Sundial
by Angrybee
Summary: Shinomori Aoshi's road to redemption is paved with dead people. Shijiko, Hyotokko, Beshimi and Hannya just won't shut up. (Complete.)
1. Chapter 1: Hyotokko

Disclaimer: The Rurouni Kenshin characters, setting, and themes are owned by Nobuhiro Watsuki and Shonen Jump Comics.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 1: Hyotokko ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Shinomori."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wake up. You are in danger."  
  
My eyes burst open as my hand slammed down on the floor next to me, instantly gripping my sheathed twin kodachi. As I pulled it upwards quickly, I flicked my finger, causing the sheath to fly across the room. My heart beat rapidly as I scanned the room quickly for my opponent, trying to hear the sounds of an oncoming attack over my rapid breath.  
  
No. No one.  
  
Of course. This is how I had been waking up for the past two years. In fact, there were several small dents on the wall of my room in the Aoiya from my kodachis' sheath hitting the wall. A sane person would tell you that this could be solved by not keeping my kodachi by my bedside. A sane person would be able to -sleep- without his hand resting on a weapon.  
  
I am not a sane person.  
  
I sat up, quickly discerning what needed to be done. Things must be orderly, you see, so that you can keep a tight control on them. Things which are done out of order lead to chaos. Chaos leads to confusion. We can not have confusion. That would be the scissors cutting the thread that holds all things together.  
  
First, get dressed.  
  
Not hard to accomplish. One of my ninja uniforms is folded neatly on a chair. I haven't the slightest clue how, but it is always there, folded on the chair in the morning. My trenchcoat is on the hook where I left it. It has seven pockets, you know? Two of them hidden. I fetch my kodachi sheath, the smaller of the pair still inside, and hook it on my belt. Lastly I find my...where is it? Oh no. Oh no. It has to be here somewhere. There, on the small western dresser. A small copper sundial on a leather band. Excellent. Complete.   
  
Second, go directly to the temple.   
  
This can only be accomplished successfully if I am the only one awake. Otherwise, someone will stop me and attempt to hold a conversation. If it is Misao, she will somehow get me to come to breakfast. She'll talk so fast and grab my hand, and before I know it, I will be sitting at breakfast with the others. But, this morning, it is only Okon.  
  
"Aoshi-sama. Good morning."  
  
I ignore her. Maybe, if I can just coldly ignore her presence, I can get to the temple without incident. Maybe she will not speak again. Please don't let her speak again.  
  
"Will you be coming to breakfast, or will you be going directly to hell, you pathetic excuse for an Okashira?"  
  
I turn on one heel and stare at her.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I asked if you would be coming to breakfast, Misao collected some wonderful blackberries in the forest yesterday." Okon smiles meekly as she positions her body behind a wooden column a bit, as if worried I might attack.  
  
I turn back around. Of course. Of course Okon would not say something like that to me. I remind myself for the thousandth time that the Aoiya is not a den of conspirators trying to cause my insanity. I leave without ever answering her question.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Third, meditate.  
  
Meditation, contrary to popular belief, never came easily to me. When I was younger, the Okashira would force me to meditate every day. "You have too much fire, Aoshi," he would say, "If you can not control it, it will burn up your soul." How right he had been.   
  
Hyottoko sits down next to me. This is how it starts. This is the battle I face every day.   
  
"Oi. Aoshi-sama, I'm hungry. Is it lunchtime yet?"  
  
'No,' I think in reply. I do not dare to look at him. I know if I look, he will look exactly like he did the moment he died. I can tell without even looking that Hannya is sitting on my other side, and Beshimi is crouched on a ceiling beam. Shikijo is elsewhere in the room, laying on his back, stroking the scars on his face in thought.  
  
This is how it has been since they died. Strangely, the only place they are -supposed- to be, at their graves, is the only place they would never go. I haven't the heart to tell them to go away. It is my punishment, isn't it, to be haunted? They will never talk, I know, about what happened. They don't seem to remember. Really, it is infuriating, but quite better than the alternative. When I become angry enough to banish them, they are replaced...replaced with the ghosts of all those I slaughtered after my four friends died. Ghosts I can not so easily control, who scream epithet after epithet, who conjure visions of widows and orphans crying, who nudge me towards my kodachi, whispering sweetly that I may join them if I wish silence.  
  
"I sure could go for some of Omasu's cooking," Hyottoko tries again. The guy always could pack away food. Rice especially. He said it soaked up any invasive chemicals he might accidentally swallow. Absently, I wonder if you get food in the afterlife.  
  
"Hyo, Aoshi-sama is trying to think," Hannya explains quietly. Well, at least Hannya is on my side. Today, anyway. Yesterday he was trying to convince me that we needed girlfriends. Yeah. A bit hard to explain to a girl that you want her to date the ghost of your dead friend, Hannya.   
  
"That so, Aoshi-sama?" Beshimi asked, "Hey. What are you thinking about? We have a mission soon? Let us help plan!"  
  
That's Beshimi for you. He may not look like much, but the guy has...had...a mind like a steel trap. He loved puzzles. I remember once he made an actual wooden replica of the Aoiya, and then cut it carefully into 50 different pieces and gave it to Misao to reassemble.   
  
Anyway, I can't tell them that I am thinking about the fact that they are -dead- and should not be sitting here talking to me. If I do, then poof, they are gone and will be replaced by even more frightening visions.  
  
'I'm thinking about...' My telepathic explanation is cut off by my last friend, the reserved Shikijo. You wouldn't know it to see him in battle, but he really is quite sensitive, though sparing with words.. Always picking up on the thoughts of others.   
  
"Misao-chan. He's thinking about how much he missed Misao-chan."  
  
So. These are my friends. My four dead friends. Ghosts to which I can not apologize. Beshimi, the clever and quick-witted one. Shikijo, the sensitive rock. Hyottoko, so simple and genial, always smiling. And Hannya, my oldest and most trusted companion.   
  
I had thought that maybe, just maybe, when I finally defeated Himura, they would rest. They would accept my apology vanish but -without- leaving me to the demons. But, I know now that isn't what they wanted. I just wish I knew...how to let them rest.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Oh. Look at the pretty ninja girl who just came into the room," Hyottoko says gleefully as I continue to try to meditate.  
  
"That's Misao-chan, Hyo! I tell you that every day," Beshimi explains.  
  
"Not so "chan" anymore, ne?" Hannya replies, standing up to walk next to Misao. "Good gracious. I wonder how many kunai she throws now."  
  
'Fourteen,' I say mentally, not opening my eyes. Though, I am not exactly sure how I know that. Have I seen her throw her kunai, recently? How do I know that?  
  
"So many?" Beshimi queries, "How can that be?"  
  
Misao sets the tea down on a nearby low table silently. She pours it and sets a solitary cup in front of me. I know she will wait, wait until I open my eyes and drink it. I'd really rather not. Opening my eyes means seeing my dead friends.  
  
But, I do so anyway.   
  
"Misao." I intone.   
  
This is her cue to immediately start talking.   
  
"Oh. Aoshi-sama. You will -never- guess what happened today. Guess. No don't guess, because you will -never- guess. I found out that Omasu has a boyfriend!"  
  
There is a collective gasp from my undead friends, except for Shikijo, who takes it all in stride.  
  
"He better be a good sort," Hannya says in a low voice, "If anyone tries to take advantage of our Omasu..."  
  
"Shh. Shh..." Hyotokko implores, "I wanna hear what Misao-chan has to say."  
  
"And you will never guess who it is! Its Gouko from the Hashinisasareru clan. Oh, I adore him. Remember him, Aoshi-sama? He's the guy who used to bring us those special wax candles that kept away the insects during the spring."  
  
The Hashinisasareru clan are the Oniwabanshu's oldest ninja allies. They have a remarkable rapport with insects, and Beshimi used to get the special poison for his darts from them. Their headquarters is far to the north, but they generally station a few of their operatives here in Kyoto.   
  
"Oh. I remember Gouko. Smart kid. Pretty decent ninja, too," Hannya remarks. I sip my tea, my mind whirling with all this conversation, my face as impassive as possible, so as not to alarm Misao to the fact that ...once again...we are having tea with ghosts.  
  
As Misao goes on and on, I listen to her voice, but hardly to the words. It coats me, like a breeze, gently playing on my skin. The tea feels wonderful sliding against my tongue. Amazing. Despite all the horrors of my mind, I get a gentle reprieve every day at tea time. I feel like a prisoner being led out into the yard for a few moments, reveling in a few feet of sunshine.   
  
But, I can not keep her here. Because I can not control her. Control, as I said before, is the most important thing. And, if Misao is anything, she is chaos. If I am fire, like my old Okashira used to say, then she is wind, capricious and intangible. Fire can be controlled, put to use, but wind can rarely be captured.   
  
Besides, the longer she stays, the longer I have to see my friends. The longer I watch them, the closer I get to losing it, to banishing them. And then...and then...  
  
I just don't want Misao to be around when that happens.   
  
Misao has long since stopped talking. I finish my tea and place the cup on the floor in front of me. Misao scoops it up quietly and takes it back to the trey, readying herself to leave.  
  
"A..umm...Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Will you be coming to dinner this evening?"  
  
"No," I reply, much to Hyottoko's despair.  
  
"Ah." She doesn't even implore like she used to do when I first came back. Misao picks up the trey and heads for the door as quietly as possible.  
  
"Misao. Wait."  
  
The diminutive girl turns her head slightly and smiles at me over her shoulder, "Yes, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"How many kunai do you throw now?"  
  
"Fourteen," she replies, "Why do you ask?"  
  
"That's absolutely amazing!" Hannya stutters. Beshimi agrees in a slight murmur, "I can't believe it. She used to only be able to do six!"  
  
"We should go watch her train," Shikijo mentions.  
  
"Your Okashira wishes to inspect your technique," I cover quickly. "I will be coming to watch you train this evening."  
  
My dead friends are absolutely delighted. Misao, on the other hand, looks mortified.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I remember it clearly. Misao was only five, but she already had decided she was going to be the best ninja ever. To pacify her, and supposedly help her achieve this goal, Beshimi and I taught her how to spy on people. You do not understand what a terrible decision this was, as the entire autumn was filled with frightening moments of Misao popping up in the most unlikely places at the most inopportune times. Of course, I could always sense her presence, but some of the other Oniwabanshu, ones less accomplished in sensing non-warrior ki, had the living daylights scared out of them.  
  
At the time, I secretly thought it was hilarious that a mere child of five could upset an accomplished group of ninjas so easily.   
  
"Aieeeeeeeee!" Omasu squealed, finding Misao squished into a kitchen cupboard.  
  
"MAKIMACHI MISAO!" Okina rumbled, finding her in a bush in his garden.  
  
"Damnit Misao!" Shiro exclaimed, finding her hiding behind a tall pile of futons and covers.  
  
But, one day in late October, Misao pulled her most infamous stunt of all. She waited for almost an hour in a tree above where Hyottoko practiced. I'd seen him earlier that week, and noted that he'd been getting pretty good with his directional fire-breathing. Before, he'd been able just to do fireballs in front of him, but with practice, he'd slowly been learning to track targets with his fire, a harder proposition than you might think, when you can barely see your quarry running due to the flames in front of you.   
  
After he finished, he sat resting under the tree, not even noticing Misao-chan. When she jumped down on his chest, she did so with just enough force that it depressed his lungs and caused him to exhale a tiny lick of flame. Thankfully, however, she had jumped down facing -away- from Hyottoko, and his flame only singed off the end of her ponytail and burned the back of her left ear. (No one realizes it except me, but this is why she keeps her bangs so long, to hide the scar. She thinks her left ear is deformed, but it has healed to look quite normal.)  
  
Nonetheless, Hyottoko was livid. I swear that man screamed louder than Misao. We all told him that she would be fine, and she was. Misao was back up and bouncing around (with a bandaged ear and a slightly shorter ponytail) in just a matter of hours.   
  
But Hyo, he wouldn't come out of his room. For days, I kept bringing a tray up to him, trying to let him know everything was alright. He'd never come out and get it, though. After four days, I was fed up. Tired of trying to coax him out, I sliced through the rice paper and bamboo of the door, and walked in.   
  
What I found was Hyo, curled up in a corner. We'd given him an extra large room, an old training room actually, to accommodate his massive size. The place smelled awful. I knew he hadn't bathed, or eaten, since the incident.  
  
"Hyo?" I asked.  
  
"Aa, Aoshi-sama?" He croaked in reply.   
  
"You should eat, my friend. I won't have a ninja like you waste away to nothing."  
  
Hyottoko looked up. I could see he had been crying, but I left him his manly dignity and didn't mention it. "Okashira," he implored, "I know I am inept. I know I'm stupid and clumsy and I hurt little Misao. I don't deserve to remain in the Oniwabanshu. But please, please don't send me away. Don't send me back to the slavers."  
  
You see, Okina and I had found Hyottoko on one of our missions. He had been a slave up for auction. Even though I was still young at the time, I could sense his ki, like a flame that cut through the night. I guess Okina sensed it too, and so we bought his freedom.   
  
"Hyo, you are your own man now. You no longer belong to anyone. So, when you hurt yourself, when you punish yourself like this...for something we all know was an accident, it is like you are spitting upon the gift that the Oniwabanshu gave you. Sure, I understand it frightened you to hurt one of your family, but she will be fine. So, eat now."  
  
"Now?" A little voice asked from beside the broken door, "Do I come in now, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
Hyo stared at me as I nodded to the hidden Misao. She jumped out in front of me holding the biggest bowl of rice she could carry, which she then walked over and placed in front of Hyo. Finally, to his surprise, she produced three long sticks.   
  
Very carefully, Misao-chan performed the magic trick I had been teaching her all day, using the hidden flint in her hands to light the sparklers.   
  
"Ta-da!" she exclaimed, and stuck the ends of the sparklers into the rice bowl, forming a "W" shape.  
  
"Misao-chan!" Hyottoko exclaimed rapidly, picking up the mini-ninja and hugging her tightly. All was forgiven. And, after that, Hyottoko never missed a single meal.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I walk back to the Aoiya quickly. I wish I could say that I was alone, but to do so would be wishful thinking. My dearly departed friends follow me every step of the way. I can't remember what season it is now. Time doesn't stick in my mind very well. Could be springtime. Could be summer. Or an extraordinarily warm autumn day. I'm not certain.   
  
How long have I been back? How long has it been like this?  
  
"Ach, Aoshi-sama, lets stop for a drink at Iizumi's place. We can have her daughters bring us sake and all the latest gossip. If you pass out, Hyo-kun can carry you back." This is Hannya. He finds it uproariously funny that I can't hold my liquor. They -all- do. I hear Beshimi's chittering "kekeke" laugh as we turn down the market street where the Aoiya sits.   
  
I don't have the heart to tell Hannya that Iizumi's place burned down three years ago, and that all of the daughters died in the fire.   
  
I wish I could walk with my eyes closed.  
  
Okina is out on the front porch, leaning against a broom, leering at passing girls. One of his favorite hobbies. Every time I see him, I flinch inwardly. He knows, better than any of the others, how deeply my psychosis had taken root. All I can think is: "I could have killed him. I would have killed him. Why didn't I kill him?" I knew he was still alive when I left that ramshackle hut. So, why didn't I kill him?   
  
Of course, I am glad I -didn't- kill him. I just don't have any clue -why- I didn't.   
  
But, then, everything would have been different. They would have never wanted me back at the Aoiya after that. And, I wouldn't want to return, anyway. Killing Okina, I think, would have pushed me over the precipice past which there would have been no redemption. Who am I kidding? I still don't know if redemption exists.  
  
"Aoshi!" Okina calls to me, but doesn't take his eyes off of a passing beauty. "You're back? Did Misao get lost with the tea? Or perhaps she finally got tired of trying to pull your blackened soul out of the abyss?"  
  
I know I didn't really hear that last comment. And yet, I still can't help but stare at Okina and wonder if that is what he really thinks. Misao is wasting her life trying to help rehabilitate me, a lost cause. I'm like the crazy uncle in the family, I suppose. Tolerated. Even perhaps loved, despite my problems. But, no one is really and truly going to be very surprised when I finally hang myself from the rafters. They'll mourn, but in the shadows, everyone will say, "We all saw it coming. And, maybe it is for the best, anyway."  
  
Suicide constantly seems more and more like a free gem found laying in a bin of refuse.  
  
Oh. Okina asked me a question. I suppose I should answer. I forget, sometimes, how communication with the living works.  
  
"Misao brought the tea. I've come to watch her train."  
  
This appears to drag Okina's attention away from the marketgoers. "That's good. She'll like that. Are you hungry? Omasu is cooking..."  
  
I don't hear the end of whatever Okina said, since Hyo is beating his chest and begging me to go to the kitchen.  
  
Am I hungry? Remind me again which of these gnawing feelings beneath my flesh is hunger?  
  
I might have had more words with Okina. I'm not sure what I said if I did. I probably just walked away. Conversation isn't my forte. Conversation is messy, unpredictable, and worst of all, revealing. Revealing is bad. Revealing leads to unpredictable emotional situations. Unpredictable emotional situations engender chaos.  
  
And we know where chaos leads.  
  
The next thing I know, I'm standing in the training hall. My mind just blacks out, sometimes, and I end up moving through the world like a zombie. It's better that way. Not thinking is always better than thinking.  
  
"Okina's hair is all white. He looks like some sort of ghost."  
  
Mark one on the irony scoreboard for Hyo. Beshimi and Hannya are arguing now about exactly how old Okina is. I'm not certain. He was married once, though. Sweet lady, she's the one who came up with the menu for the Aoiya. It's named after her, you know. Aoki. Aoiya. But, she died while I was gone. Caught a fever, from what I understand, and one morning she just didn't wake up. You might think it strange that Okina chases after those girls, instead of honoring the memory of his wife by becoming some doddering old homebody. But, I think, he just wants those girls to know they are pretty, to show them that they are alive, and he is alive. And somehow, in the mix, his love for Aoki is still alive, too. He wants to remind them that youth is beautiful, and short, and not to be wasted.  
  
Or, something like that. I'm not always certain that I exactly understand the man. I'm not an expert on affairs of the heart. No, listening to my opinions on love is a lot like letting a geisha expound upon kempo techniques.  
  
"Did you say something about visiting a geisha, Aoshi-kun?"  
  
Hannya again. I'm not exactly sure how he became such a brilliant kempoist when all he ever thinks about is having a good time. Of course, I know, when we're on a mission, it flies out the door, and he's all business, from beginning to end.  
  
"You shouldn't bring up geishas or oirans or any sort of pretty women to Aoshi-sama," Shikijo says quietly. How such a large and muscular man can have such soft voice, I'll never know. Saves all his aggression for fighting, I suppose. "He's still sore about that one time."  
  
Well, yes, it is true. Thank-you, Shikijo. I -am- still sore about that one time. Hannya thought it proper for me to become a man, in the most seedy sense of the phrase, and the expedition turned into a catastrophe. This would also be the same night that we all discovered Shinomori Aoshi will never be a great drinker.  
  
That poor, poor, woman. Shrieking at the top of her lungs, coated in my vomit. And me, naked and shivering in the corner, apologizing in what didn't even sound like Japanese. My comrades burst in, thinking from the woman's screaming that we'd been attacked.  
  
At the time, I thought it to be the absolute pinnacle of what shame could be heaped upon a man.  
  
I've since learned differently.  
  
They all laughed it off, of course. And, I've been with women since that time, but none of them...  
  
"Misao-chan!" Beshimi claps his hands as Misao enters the room. "Look how graceful she is. I taught her that, you know."  
  
Hannya disagrees vehemently, claiming that he definitely was the one who taught Misao how to be so graceful, and the pair end up arguing again.  
  
"Who's that, then?" Hyotokko asks.  
  
While the others are explaining to Hyo, yet again, that the 'pretty little ninja girl' is, in fact, Misao, I examine some of the weapons hanging on the wall. I don't remember the practice weapons being this worn. They were brand new, weren't they, last time we practiced? Hm. This is the bokken the old Okashira cut down to size to emulate a kodachi for me. When did it get so beat up?   
  
"Aoshi-sama?" Misao asks, her voice like a sparrow in the graveyard of my mind. "I'm ready."  
  
I turn around, and notice she's set up several wooden targets around the room. As I cross my arms, she leaps into action, executing a perfectly sonorous yell, her own style of kiaijutsu, before completing several kicks and a round of punches.  
  
Her hands are really tiny when she clenches them into fists. I can't imagine they'd do much damage.  
  
And then she's jumping, pivoting, an unrelenting whirlwind of attack. Her technique is good, I'll admit, formidably executed. But, what Himura told her once is the truth: her slight frame will prohibit her kempo from ever being a true danger. I'm mildly relieved at the thought. Maybe she'll live a halfway normal life after I'm dead, instead of seeking Strength in the most ludicrous of places.  
  
She flips through the air and lands only two feet from me.  
  
I might be frightened, if I hadn't been the same person who wiped her nose, all those years ago.  
  
Her hands spring up, and kunai fly in opposite directions, seven landing perfectly on the easternmost target, and six striking the westernmost.  
  
The last one ends up on the floor with a metallic clang.  
  
"Ooo, I botched it," Misao says, pouting for only a second before storming off across the room to retrieve her throwing knives.  
  
My dead friends are in awe.  
  
"Would you look at that? If I met that on the street, I'd prob'ly faint," Hyotokko says.  
  
"I know. I taught her that, -too-," Beshimi declares, only to be corrected in the next second by Hannya. "-I- taught her that."  
  
"Well, maybe some of the kempo, but the kunai throwing definitely comes from me."  
  
Another argument breaks out between the pair. They were like that when they were alive, too. Always fighting about absolutely nothing. It never came to blows, though. Just blowing off steam.  
  
But, of course, it is Shikijo who knows what I am thinking. "She's too small, isn't she, Aoshi-sama? You're worried that the kempo and the kunai aren't enough."   
  
"It's not like there's an eminent battle," I reply.  
  
Misao whirls around, peering at me with those aquamarine eyes, her lips caught in a tiny "O" of confusion.  
  
Did I say that -out loud-?   
  
Kami-sama, I'm talking to dead people again. I'm talking to dead people like it is the most normal thing in the world. Maybe that Seta kid had the better idea. At least, if I were wandering around, Misao wouldn't have to watch what is happening to me. I could think fondly of the residents of the Aoiya, and not constantly suspect that they are trying to sabotage my sanity.  
  
I wouldn't have to look into Okina's eyes.  
  
"What did you say, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"Nothing." I take the modified bokken off the wall and run my fingers along the worn edge. Despite the abuse, it is still quite sturdy. As Misao approaches, I hold it out towards her. "Take this. Your kempo form is fine, as is your ability with the kunai. But, you..." How do I say this without hurting her feelings? "You should diversify."  
  
I take one of the full sized bokkens off the wall and turn to set myself at the opposite end of the training hall from Misao.  
  
I know she has some rudimentary training with blades already. We gave her a pretty rounded education.   
  
"Shh, shh. Aoshi-sama is going to spar with Misao-chan," Beshimi whispers.  
  
Hyotokko backs up against the wall, and shakes his head. "Uh. Ano, Aoshi-sama, that isn't a good idea."  
  
I bring the bokken up to a fairly simple defensive stance, knowing that Misao will want to attack first. "Hmmm?"  
  
"No, I'm serious, Aoshi-sama, you shouldn't do that," Hyotokko tries again.  
  
Misao flies at me, her light steps hardly making a sound against the wooden floor. She tries for my left shoulder, then my right, in quick succession. I parry easily.  
  
But, then she does something I don't expect. She slides her bokken underneath my trenchcoat, right by the outside of my knee, and thrusts upwards, causing the fabric to billow upwards and obscure my view of her for a second.   
  
She's trying to get behind me.  
  
I spin in the opposite direction, meaning to meet her attack.  
  
I never do.   
  
The last thing I remember is the sight of the rapidly-approaching ground, and Hyotokko whispering, "I wish you would have listened, Aoshi-sama."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Shinomori."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wake up. You are in danger."  
  
My eyes fly open, and my hand hits the floor. Need my kodachis. Nothing. There isn't anything there.  
  
Panic.   
  
I can feel my heart begin to race as I jump up. It feels like chipped ice is flowing through my veins. The world...pulsing...I...  
  
I'm dizzy. And, in my dizziness, I collapse back onto the futon.  
  
Why am I in my room? I was in the training hall with Misao and then...  
  
"You shouldn't try to get up yet."  
  
Hyotokko is suddenly kneeling beside my futon. I try not to recoil at the immediate appearance of his lifeless face. But, successful or not, he doesn't seem to notice.   
  
Wait. Something is different. Hyotokko is the only one here. The others...I can't see them, or sense them.   
  
"I tried to tell you, Aoshi-sama. But, you wouldn't listen."  
  
"What?"  
  
His face has an oddly blue tint to it, which subsequently melts away to a deep purple. Wonderful. Now I'm not only seeing ghosts, but I'm hallucinating them in a rainbow of vivid colors.   
  
Hyotokko's voice seems to be melting, too. Syrupy. It's oozing into my ears, sliding around, uninvited, in my mind. "When was the last time you ate, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
When -was- the last time I ate?  
  
I had some bits of dried bread with the tea Misao brought. Nothing substantial.   
  
Before that...  
  
I'm not certain.  
  
"You fainted from malnutrition."  
  
I must have eaten recently. Surely.   
  
"You should eat, my friend. I won't have a ninja like you waste away to nothing," Hyotokko says, peering down at my face.   
  
My words, my own words. Hyotokko grabs my limp hand in his oversized paws. "When you hurt yourself, when you punish yourself like this...for something we all know was an accident, it is like you are spitting upon the gift that the Oniwabanshu gave you. Sure, I understand it frightened you to hurt one of your family, but Okina will be fine. So, eat now."  
  
My own goddamn words.  
  
The way he's looking at me, he's telling me...goodbye...isn't he?  
  
"Is that...is that what you want from me, Hyo-kun?"  
  
"Yes, Aoshi-sama," he replies, "I just want my friend, my leader, to take care of himself. Will you do that, for me?"  
  
I nod weakly. Of course. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have neglected myself like that and ended up making everyone worry?   
  
Suddenly, Hyotokko's face is no longer contorted with the horrific agony of his death. This, too, melts away, leaving behind the gentle giant, smiling softly. In the candlelight, his eyes dance with unrestrained joy, just like the time Misao brought him rice with sparklers.  
  
And then, he's gone.  
  
I know he's gone for good.  
  
Opening the hand Hyotokko had been holding, I find my copper sundial.  
  
I can't say I understand. He was here, all this time, just trying to get me to take care of myself? Not to haunt me or drive me insane?   
  
This puts a kink in my general theories on my own personal hell.  
  
I wonder what the others want.  
  
Well, I'm certain there will be time to meditate on such things tomorrow.  
  
Right now, I need to go to the kitchen.  
  
I hope Omasu is cooking.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In The Next Chapter: Further adventures in Aoshi's varied psychoses. What do the other dead Oniwabanshu want? And what's up with this sundial?  
  
Thanks for reading. This story will be four chapters long, if you hadn't already guessed, but may take me some time to update, since I have a -lot- of stories in progress. My apologies for that. 


	2. Chapter 2: Shikijo

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 2: Shikijo ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Shinomori!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wake up! You are in danger!"  
  
My hand slams down on the futon and one second later, my kodachi sheath flies across the room. I jolt up, prepared to fight, but can't see my enemy. My eyes are blurry. Wait. No. It's just my bangs in my face. Alright then, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the fact that my heart is pounding so hard I feel like my chest is going to explode, everything is as it should be.  
  
I have to stop waking up like this.  
  
I hear a metallic clatter echo in the room from the direction of the shoji.  
  
What in the hell was that?  
  
Turning my head, and shaking my hair into a more reasonable situation, one wherein I can -see-, I find Misao standing by the sliding door, the contents of a breakfast tray at her feet. Her eyes are open wide with shock.  
  
Oh. It's only Misao.  
  
Misao?! Why is Misao in my room? Why is she looking at me like...  
  
Besides the fact that she just saw me go from sleeping to holding a kodachi in front of my chest in less time then it would take Seta Soujirou to shukuchi across the Aoiya courtyard, I can not fathom what would cause her to...  
  
I'm not wearing a shirt, am I?  
  
Just pretend everything is normal, Shinomori. Misao is not going to bring up the fact that your skin is littered with scars. Her repulsion caused her to drop the tray, but she has enough tact to cover. She's not going to say anything. Breathe, Shinomori, breathe. What are you doing? Don't pull the covers up over yourself -now-. Just act like nothing -happened-. What am I thinking? Nothing -did- happen. She's the one who barged into my room.  
  
Say something, already!  
  
"Misao." I have my pants on, right? Right. Okay, good. I must have not bothered to put my sleeping yukata on after visiting the kitchen last night. That seems like a logical explanation. So, then it's settled. Everything makes sense. Except for...  
  
"What are you doing in here, Misao?"  
  
Misao shuffles her feet a bit and then bends down to pick some of the items up off of the floor. "The doctor said you should eat... I was bringing breakfast, Aoshi-sama."  
  
"I ate last night."  
  
Okay. No. You're not going to do this anymore, Shinomori. You can't just eat once. The whole point is to continue eating on a regular basis. Taking care of yourself is what Hyotokko wanted. While you are at it, you might consider bathing, too.   
  
Hm. But, my hair smells like incense from the temple.  
  
Please focus. I attempt to pull myself together. This situation screams volatility. Misao's ki is reverberating with fear. Fear! But, then, can I really blame her? I'm constantly surprised that she doesn't exhibit more paranoia when in my presence.  
  
Misao leaves to fetch a towel to clean up some spilled miso, and I have a moment of reprieve.   
  
Wait. Was there a doctor? I don't recall that part. If there was a doctor, then probably...  
  
Kami-sama, the whole Aoiya knows that I fainted.   
  
Okina is going to want to talk to me. Everyone is going to start asking me if I'm "feeling better". Misao is going to worry and blame herself for not looking after me.   
  
I need a plan of action. I'm an essentially organized man. I did lead the Oniwabanshu in guarding Edo castle. We were terrifyingly efficient. And, it isn't as easy of a job as you might think. Spies and assassins constantly wanted to get within those walls.   
  
I kept them out.  
  
I'm good at keeping people outside the walls.  
  
Misao returns and busies herself wiping up the floor. She's still afraid, I can tell, but, it seems like she's even more scared than when she left. Why?   
  
"I brought some plums from the kitchen, Aoshi-sama. They're really pretty good. Okon bought them yesterday." She stands and walks over beside my futon, holding out one of the aforementioned fruits.   
  
Her bottom lip quivers slightly as she watches me, watching her.  
  
Take the fruit, Shinomori.  
  
I do so, and Misao steps back. She almost stumbles backward.   
  
She's silent as I bite into the plum. Eating in bed, not exactly a civilized affair, but Misao doesn't seem to mind my breach of etiquette. Misao twists the rag in her hands, quietly looking around my room, as if she'd never been in here before.  
  
Wait. Misao is being -very- quiet.  
  
She's hardly ever quiet. And she's almost visibly shaking. Surely, surely, this doesn't have to do with me. I'm obviously fine now, so she should be getting -less- upset instead of -more- upset. Unless this is some sort of woman thing that I just can't understand.   
  
"What's wrong, Misao?"  
  
Misao looks like I just punched her in the face. But, she recovers quickly. "Nothing, Aoshi-sama. I was just thinking that maybe you should stay in bed today. I can bring you food and some of your books from the library..."  
  
I watch her twist that rag so hard that drops of soaked up miso fall onto the floor. She's hiding something from me.   
  
I cut her off mid-babble. "What are you hiding?"  
  
Misao examines her toes.  
  
"What. Are. You. Hiding. Misao?"  
  
A glint of a tear forms in Misao's right eye. She looks away from me.  
  
Why would Misao hide something from me? Of all the people in the Aoiya, she's the only one brave enough to try to talk to me every day. She tells me everything, even when I don't want her to, even when I'm not really listening. Why would Misao, of all people...  
  
A bloodcurdling scream echoes through the halls of the Aoiya.   
  
I'm immediately up. I snatch my shirt from where I'd discarded it last night on the floor. I yank my trenchcoat off the wall so forcibly that the hook comes with it, clattering onto the floor.   
  
Sundial. Check.  
  
Kodachis...  
  
I turn around in an attempt to find the shorter of my two kodachis and the sheath. I'm fairly certain they were just right here. They land in the same spot every time...  
  
Where?  
  
Misao's hands are behind her back. That sneaky little...  
  
I grab Misao's upper arm and twist until she's forced to turn around. Yes. She has my kodachi behind her back, her tiny little hands curled so tightly around the sheath that they are white from lack of blood. "Let go of it, Misao."  
  
She doesn't.  
  
I don't have time for this. My world is apparently on a train to disaster in the form of complete chaos.  
  
A moan pierces the air from beyond my shoji, ending in heavy sobs.  
  
I dig my thumb into the joints between two of Misao's fingers. She has to release, or suffer a broken hand. Misao opts for the former.  
  
I sheath my kodachi as I am speeding down the hall.   
  
Of course, this would be the time that my dead friends show up. Hannya is running beside me, and I can hear Shikijo's footfalls at my back. I assume Beshimi is on his shoulders.  
  
Hyotokko is...not here.  
  
"What's going on?" Hannya asks.  
  
'I don't know. Something is wrong. Something is -very- wrong.'  
  
I reach the courtyard within seconds. Almost immediately, I'm faced with an unbelievable sight. There's blood. I can see it, and I can smell it. Bloody cloth litters the area, as if tossed aside with great haste.  
  
Kuro and Shiro are standing over two figures I can't make out, both of which look like they've just emerged from the bloodiest battle of the Bakumatsu. Okina is at their feet, unwinding a long strip of bandages.  
  
No. Those bloody figures are women.  
  
Okon and Omasu.  
  
I'm going to kill someone.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I don't remember my parents. Now, some people may try to convince you that this is a sad thing, but I am mostly indifferent. How can I long for what I never knew? I've never had a puppy, either. Big deal.  
  
The first thing I -do- remember is the Temple of the Five Clouds. At times, so silent, like falling into a dark, safe chasm. And then, filled with noise, as the other orphans played in the yard. The monks were men of extraordinary wisdom and patience. And yet, they smiled such simple smiles, and laughed at every passing butterfly the children chased.  
  
They tried to give us good, strong names. Names that would increase our chances in the world. Names of beauty and fortitude. To me they gave the flower "Shinomori Aoshi". It means: Four forest trees, palest purple.   
  
Quite a nice scene, I believe. It was in such a scene, supposedly, that the monks found me. It still remains a mystery as to how I came to be in that grove. Was I abandoned? Did my parents tell me to run from some horrific violence? Did I merely wander away from my home?   
  
They never knew. The monks took me in, and no one ever came to claim me. I was four or five years old.  
  
Times, as they ever seem to be, were hard. The Temple struggled to keep all mouths fed. I am sure there were nights when some of the monks fasted in order to be sure that we children had food.   
  
They worked hard to keep our bodies, and minds, healthy. I was best at learning to read and write, and absolutely the worst at meditation. I didn't understand. Why close your eyes and attempt to clear your mind to try to shut out the awesome beauty of the world? The birds above, defying gravity, the knots on a shoot of bamboo, the way the water rippled when hit by the breeze, as if shivering...why would anyone want to leave that behind?  
  
And then the ninjas came. Of course, I did not know they were ninjas then. We lived far in the forest, away from the news and chatter of the city. In my mind, they were merely friends of the monks, strong men to whom even the Abbot bowed low. I asked Brother Seiki who they were, and he told me that they were warriors which had once protected the temple from destruction, and that the monks owed them a great debt. They had needed a place to stay on their way home from battle, so they had stopped at the temple for rest.  
  
Their leader was a man who commanded incredible respect merely by his presence. I must say, I was quite taken with him. He had these -huge- hands that looked like they were made of wood, and giant shoulders like great granite rocks. When he meditated, he looked like a sleeping mountain.   
  
The Abbot called me into his office one afternoon, and the leader of the warriors was there, too.   
  
"Aoshi-chan, this is Okashira Iwayama. You know that times are hard for us here, and that food is scarce. But, the Okashira has agreed to give some of the children a new home in the city. It is your choice to go, or to stay. I will not force you to leave, for you must know that we cherish you here. But, if you will trust me, I think that Okashira Iwayama can help you learn skills that will make you into a fine man, one worthy of such a name as Shinomori Aoshi."  
  
And so, I went. But, I was not the only child leaving the temple that day. Two girls, both younger than me, were also chosen. I know that I was asked to go because a growing boy eats quite a bit. But, with the girls, I suspect, the monks were worried that they would not have the knowledge to properly raise young women.   
  
So I left the temple at age eight, along with Okon, two years my younger, and Omasu, age three.  
  
I can't say I've ever known them well. But, in my mind's eye, they are ever-present figures, shadows which always have existed on the periphery. Cooking. Doing laundry. Training. Omasu doing little Misao's hair. Okon showing Misao-chan how to tie her obi.   
  
Omasu screaming upon finding a mouse in the kitchen.  
  
Okon's never-ending stream of suitors.  
  
I suspect I've always considered them permanencies, like the Aoiya. Like the Oniwabanshuu itself.  
  
Something which belongs to me, like my kodachis...  
  
Like my sundial.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Our Okon..." Shikijo whispers, "Our little Omasu..."  
  
"What happened?" Hannya and I both ask the question at the same time. Fortunately, mine is the only voice which can be heard.  
  
Okina doesn't look up from his task of putting Okon's arm in a sling. Ah. So, that was the scream I heard. He was setting the bone. Kuro and Shiro are quietly washing Okon and Omasu's bloodied and battered faces, trying to wrap clean towels around their shoulders to keep them from shivering, since both of them are sitting in only their breast bindings and some underskirts.   
  
Who would do this?   
  
"They were lucky to escape." Misao's voice comes from behind me, "They were attacked on their way home from the market, taken to a warehouse, and beaten. The men..." Misao grabs the sleeve of my trenchcoat between her thumb and forefinger, tugging gently, as if she had the idea of trying to lead me away, but just couldn't go through with it. "The men were asking about the Oniwabanshuu, and..."  
  
Okon and Omasu look like zombies, sitting there hardly moving. Omasu's left eye is swollen shut, a giant purple welt growing on the side of her face.   
  
"Asking about the Oniwabanshuu...and what?"  
  
"And, about you, Aoshi-sama."  
  
About me? But, why? Did I kill someone during that time... Is this revenge? Or, is this something else?  
  
"Where?"  
  
Misao says nothing. Why does she always have to be so stubborn?   
  
"WHERE, MISAO?" I can't believe I just raised my voice. It sounded so loud, so horribly loud.  
  
"The abandoned fish packing house down by the pier. But, if you're going, Aoshi-sama, then I'm going too."  
  
"Okashira," Hannya says. Okashira? They only call me by my title when we're on a mission. "Permission to investigate."  
  
"Yes. Send me, as well, Okashira," Shikijo implores.  
  
I turn around, searching Shikijo's lifeless face. "No. You never were a very successful spy. Hannya should go."  
  
The arctic drop in temperature comes from Misao's ki. A grimly determined look on her face melts away to utter desolation, followed by severe confusion.   
  
I really have to stop talking to ghosts.  
  
"But..."  
  
Oh no.  
  
"Aoshi-sama..."  
  
Oh, Kami-sama, no, don't...  
  
"Hannya is..."  
  
Please don't say it...  
  
"Dead."  
  
I've got to get out of here -right- now. I brush past Misao, only vaguely hearing her calling after me as I walk briskly down the corridor, jump the stairs, and exit the Aoiya.  
  
I can hear them behind me. Breathing their last. The gunfire. The terrible smell that filled Kanryuu's ballroom. Gunpowder and gore.   
  
"Okashira..."  
  
The word runs up my spine, causing me to quicken my pace.   
  
The street is overly bright. The sun. I can't see where I am going. I bump into someone waiting in line for the Aoiya to open.  
  
She's dead. Her face is grey and her mouth twisted into a scream of horror. Her arms flit out to catch me, and to at the same time, keep herself from falling. But, I dodge. I spin. The attempt to change direction is futile, I run into someone else. Dead. Flesh hangs from his bones, as if he had been caught in a horrific conflagration that melted his skin.  
  
Men. Women. Children. All dead. Everyone is dead. They watch me with empty eyes. Accusing. Judging.  
  
"You're the reason your friends died," a little boy carrying a bunch of withered radishes says.  
  
'No, I...'  
  
A woman holding dead baby speaks up, "Those you murdered after leaving Kanryuu's mansion beg for your destruction. Give them what they want."  
  
'Please, I'm not the same...'  
  
"You betrayed the Oniwabanshuu, you betrayed your family." I spin around. I'm not even certain who is talking anymore.  
  
'I did, but I can change...'  
  
They are closing in on me. The entire throng of ghosts speak in unison. "You're the reason Okon and Omasu were hurt."  
  
'No...' I stumble backwards, only to find my arms caught by the cold, dead hands of one of the market's vendors.  
  
"Yes. You heard what Misao said. Have you ever done anything which didn't bring pain to others, Shinomori Aoshi? You're a demon. Born without mother or father. The monks knew. They had to get rid of you. Why do you think you were so accomplished at such a young age? From whence do you think all this strength comes?"  
  
I'm running now. I don't know where. The city of Kyoto is flying past. I have to get away from them. They know everything. They see everything. But, no matter where I run, their voices follow me.  
  
"Everyone will be hurt..."  
  
Oh, Kami-sama, I wish my dead friends were here. Anything is better...anything is better than this world. I dive into an alleyway, cowering behind a bin of refuse.  
  
"The only way to save them is to kill yourself, Shinomori Aoshi."  
  
'No. Himura said...'  
  
"Himura? Himura is a fool. He can not escape our wrath, only delay it. You're both going to the same hell."  
  
'Beshimi...'  
  
"Call for your dead friends. They can't help you."  
  
'Hannya...Shikijo...'  
  
"No one can save you..."  
  
'Anyone. Please...'  
  
"You are damned."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It is true what I said about Shikijo. He never was a very good spy. And that is the fact which brought him into the employ of the Oniwabanshuu.  
  
As I have said, Shikijo possesses a gentle nature. His ability to empathize with others always struck me as a strange contradiction to his immense strength.  
  
But, it made him a formidable lieutenant for the Ishin Shishi. He always knew the moods of his men, what plagued their minds, what made them smile. And, because of this, his men trusted him completely. They won many battles, and had enviable success during the Bakumatsu.  
  
Very enviable.  
  
So much so that it made other squads look bad. A conspiracy formed around Shikijo. The other lieutenants sought to get him removed, or if possible, killed.   
  
And they found their chance. When it became necessary for a spy to infiltrate Edo Castle to steal some plans about upcoming battles, all the lieutenants recommended Shikijo for the job.   
  
"He's the best. Never defeated!" they would say.  
  
"Such an important task can only be given to Shikijo-san," they'd declare.  
  
And, of course, Shikijo's superiors ended up choosing him. The problem lays in the fact that Shikijo is a warrior, not a spy. His bulky size makes it incredibly hard for him to slide around unseen within the shadows. And his impressive ki was like a beacon to the Oniwabanshuu stationed at Edo Castle.  
  
He waylaid several of my men as he stormed through the halls, not even attempting to hide himself. I suppose Shikijo was resigned to do the deed, or to die trying.   
  
He and I fought. His strength was formidable, and I even ended up worrying for a few moments that I might have met my match. But, in the end, I was able to defeat the invader.  
  
My duty was to dispatch him. But, as I looked into his eyes, and saw behind the defiant warrior a much deeper man, I decided against it.   
  
So, I said: "To kill someone whose strength is so extraordinary would be regrettable. Come to the Oniwabanshuu."  
  
And in the end, he did. We covered up the incident, and welcomed him into our ranks with the promise to help him become so much stronger.   
  
It was one of the best decisions I've ever made.  
  
And yet, I know it pained Shikijo to make the decision. He always felt that he had betrayed the Ishin Shishi. He had left his men behind to join the Oniwabanshuu. My friend didn't seem to understand that the Ishin Shishi betrayed him -first- by sending him to his death at Edo Castle.  
  
Years later, I found him in the Aoiya courtyard, little Misao curled up in his lap, asleep. Shikijo was always best at getting Misao to calm down and nap. I'd watched him do it a few times, and it always amazed me. He'd put her on his knee, and talk to her in his low voice, telling her stories of old, and the next thing you knew, Misao-chan would be snoring.  
  
Yes. Misao snores. It sounds, believe it or not, exactly like a chittering weasel.  
  
"She wore herself out." Shikijo whispered as I approached. "But, only would sleep in my lap. Our little weasel can be quite demanding."  
  
I nodded as I sat next to him underneath the large tree by where we practiced. A fine day, I remember. Not a cloud in the sky. And the air was just a breath warmer than chilly, the kind of temperature that makes you forget the torment of hot and cold days altogether.   
  
We would sit like this often, he and I. Neither of us had much need for words. I'd meditate, and he'd watch Misao-chan sleep. Sometimes it is good to have friends with which you can just sit quietly, without need for constant conversation.  
  
But, then, some minutes later, I heard Shikijo say, "Her sleep is so untroubled, so lacking in worry or regret. I hope it is always such a way for Misao-chan."  
  
I opened by eyes, but didn't turn my head to look at him. "And your sleep?"  
  
"Mine is..." Shikijo trailed off with a rumbling sigh. "Tell me, Aoshi-sama, aren't you worried that someday I will betray you, just as I betrayed the Ishin Shishi?"  
  
"No." Frankly, the thought really hadn't crossed my mind.  
  
"Why not? If I were you, I'd be worried. Once a man becomes a traitor, he can never be trusted again."  
  
I plucked a blade of grass and began to tear it apart, but by bit. In retrospect, I suppose I just can't go a day without destroying -something-. "You won't betray the Oniwabanshuu because I will never allow you to have a reason to do so. We are more than just a gathering of ninjas, the Oniwabanshuu is your family. You take care of your family." I glanced over at little Misao curled up in Shikijo's lap. She twitched lightly and batted at a ladybug that had landed on her cheek. "Take care of your family, and they will take care of you. You, my friend, are not the sort of man to betray your family."  
  
A faint chuckle from Shikijo woke Misao from her nap. Her little arms stretched up and encircled his muscular neck. "Shikijo-nisan," she said through a yawn, "I want strawberries."  
  
"Yes, Misao-chan, after dinner, hm?"  
  
Now, I know that at the time the Aoiya did not keep such fruits in stock. And, in fact, I hadn't seen them in the marketplace for weeks due to the fact that the strawberry season in Shizouka had come to and end. But, I swear that after dinner, I saw Misao on the engawa with a bowl of the reddest, ripest strawberries I have ever seen.  
  
"Shikijo got them for me," she said.  
  
Bewildered, I turned and headed down the hallway, only to run into Shikijo hiding behind a post. He just shrugged, and with a chuckle, turned back to watching Misao from the shadows as she ate the strawberries.  
  
He had the biggest grin I've ever seen.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Okashira."  
  
I open my eyes to find my dead friends all standing in the alleyway, peering at me as if I am crazy. Great. Now even the -ghosts- think I am insane.  
  
Beshimi is laying on the roof, his head leaning back to give himself an upside-down view of the world. I swear, the man's feet hardly ever touch the ground. "When I find out who did that to Okon and Omasu, I'm going to put them in a pit with a thousand scorpions. And that is just for -starters-."  
  
Shikijo looks horribly uncomfortable. He keeps shifting his weight from right to left, flexing his hands over and over. If he weren't so incredibly -dead-, I'd be worried that he'd tear up half of Kyoto tonight in an attempt to find the culprit.  
  
"We'd best hit the old fish market, Okashira," Hannya says, "Before they come back to clean up any evidence they might have left behind.  
  
"Aa." I stand up and check myself briefly. Well, I'm a little dirty. I might have fallen down back there, once or twice. I don't remember.   
  
We head through the streets of Kyoto towards the old fish market. On the way, recalling Hyotokko's advice, I pick up a bit of food. Strawberries, actually. Believe it or not, I'd never had them before. I can see why Misao likes them so much, but they are a bit too sweet for me. I attempt to eat and walk at the same time, a complicated affair, since I think people who eat while walking look moronic. If you can't sit down for a meal, you shouldn't eat. I think the monks told me that. They were big on doing -one- thing at a time. The monks from the Temple of the Five Clouds would hate the city, I'm fairly certain.  
  
We arrive at the warehouse without incident. No one tries to talk to me, and except for the usual ghosts, I don't hallucinate anything particularly riveting.   
  
Inside, the place still smells of turned salmon and salt. But, over that, there is the musty smell of years of disuse. There isn't much here of note. Old equipment rotting and rusting away, some barrels containing brine, a dinghy that looks like it ran into an iceberg. Nothing.  
  
"Okashira, I found something."   
  
I follow Hannya's voice and end up in a hidden alcove behind stacks of wooden crates. There are drops of dried blood here, spattered on the ground, and on the nearby wall.   
  
Brutal. Whomever did this has no empathy, no morals, and a soul so black even the fires of hell couldn't shed light on it.  
  
Considering that I am a man much like that description, I'm betting I'll be able to find the culprit without much trouble.  
  
And then I see it. Written in Okon and Omasu's blood, someone has used their finger to draw a word in kanji on one of the wooden crates:  
  
Shinomori.  
  
I sink down, sitting on one of the nearby barrels. They were looking for me. It is true. Okon and Omasu were hurt, and it should have been me. I'm wretched, a fiery abomination that walks through this land, burning everything nearby. First my friends, then Okina, and now Okon and Omasu.   
  
Who's next? Kuro and Shiro? Misao?  
  
I lean forward, grabbing my bangs with my hands, pulling my hair in an attempt to get my mind to focus on the pain, rather than how much I want to kill myself.   
  
My hair. It smells like incense from the temple. The thought would be refreshing, if it didn't remind me why I had been spending so much time in the temple in the first place.  
  
"Aoshi-sama, your sleep has been troubled."  
  
I look up to find Shikijo sitting on the crate across from mine. I can't help but stare at his knees. He has gigantic knees. Like boulders. In all the times he had Misao asleep on his lap, I never noticed how, with just one move, he could have crushed her.  
  
"Aa. Troubled," I whisper, wondering if Shikijo can read my mind. My eyes dart right and left, and to my mild surprise, Hannya and Beshimi are missing.   
  
Shikijo seems to be glowing, almost vibrating, like a candle caught in a staccato breeze. Even if I wanted to get up and walk out, I feel like my entire body has been glued to this barrel. I can't escape what Shikijo wants to say to me, even if I am pretty certain I don't want to hear him say it.  
  
"Did you betray your family, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
I look down at my feet. I feel like a child, like the child I never was, waiting to be scolded for something I should have known better than to do. Finally, I find my voice, though dry, and say, "Aa, Shikijo, I did."  
  
"That's strange. You're not the sort of man to betray your family." He sits there for a long time, silently, pondering what I have said, I suppose. "When I betrayed the Ishin Shishi, you gave me a second chance. So, Aoshi-sama, I'll give you a second chance to prove you truly care for your family."  
  
"But, Shikijo..." Do I even have a voice anymore? My throat can't be much larger around than a grain of rice with this giant lump in it. "What if I don't know how? What if I fail? What if I fail them again, Shikijo?"  
  
He chuckles, and I'm able to feel that giant rumble of his chest all the way over here. "You won't fail, Aoshi-sama. Take care of your family, and they will take care of you."  
  
I look up to find Shikijo smiling, his grin so broad it reminds me of that time I caught him spying on Misao.   
  
The look in his eyes tells me goodbye, but his lips say, "I'll see you sometime, Aoshi-kun. Look after my family for me, until then."  
  
And then Shikijo is gone...for good.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
When I get back to the Aoiya, I'm covered in sweat and in an irascible mood. Of all the places someone could choose to live, why there? You would not believe what I went through after leaving the abandoned fish market.  
  
The night air makes things even worse, causing my uniform to stick to my arms, and my trenchcoat to feel like it is made of iron.  
  
I have to wonder how -he- does it.  
  
Yes. I definitely need a bath. At this rate, even Misao won't talk to me any more due to the smell. But, I have something to do before I can indulge in such things.  
  
I walk past Misao's room, noting from the snoring that she is asleep. There is light burning in Okina's office, and Kuro and Shiro were closing up the restaurant. I hear heavy footsteps behind me, causing me to consider rolling my eyes.  
  
Instead, I say, "Just wait here."  
  
I rap gently on the shoji of Okon and Omasu's shared room. They're up, I know, because I can hear them talking in low tones to one another. "Who is it?"  
  
I shift my weight. Speaking with the living really does prove such a bother. "Aoshi."  
  
"Oh? Oh! Come in, Aoshi-sama!"  
  
Inside, I find both the ladies laying on their futons. Okon is propped up with a stack of pillows, her arm laying in a sling. Omasu is holding a piece of meat against her face.   
  
They look...amusing, but, a lot better.  
  
Both of the ladies look at me, expectantly. But, I'm looking at their room. I don't think I've ever been in here before. Their ninja uniforms are folded neatly and placed on top of a counter. I'd never thought about it before, but I guess one of them brings a clean uniform to my room every day while I'm meditating at the temple. Well, that mystery is solved.  
  
And it smells like baked apples in here. Why doesn't my room smell like baked apples?  
  
"Can we help you with anything, Aoshi-sama?" Okon asks. Right. She looks like she couldn't help -herself- into the bath right about now. "Or have you come to attempt to speed us to our demise?"  
  
I grit my teeth. I'm fairly certain she didn't ask me that, and even if she did, I wouldn't dignify it with a response. "I came..." Think, Shinomori, think. How do other people do this? "...to check on you."  
  
"We're okay," Omasu says, smiling through her bruises, "It scared us, mostly. But, we're tough. We'll be up and throwing customers out of the Aoiya in no time. Don't worry."  
  
Worry. Yes. I was a little worried. Only a little. Alright. More than a little.  
  
"You should sleep," I propose.  
  
Okon shakes her head. "No, we slept all day. We're done with sleeping."  
  
"Ah." I'm standing here like an idiot, trying to figure out my next move. How can I make them understand that I really do appreciate all they do for me, for the Aoiya, for all of us? I'm just not skilled enough in that sort of emotional gushing. "In that case, do you mind another visitor?"  
  
Okon and Omasu look at me like I am crazy. Which, I suppose, is a fair assessment of my current mental state. I move aside, nodding at the person I spent all afternoon to fetch.  
  
"Ladies," Hiko Seijuro announces, blustering past me with the aplomb of an Emperor entering his court, "I've come bearing the best medicine there is. Sake, sake, and more sake."  
  
Hiko-sama!!!" Okon and Omasu both squeal.  
  
"Say now, Shinomori said you were both beat up. Sounds like you should hire a certain Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu master and accomplished potter as a bodyguard."  
  
Okon and Omasu are still squealing as I quietly slide the shoji closed. I don't know what those two see in that man, but their faces sure do light up when he walks in the room. Just seeing that was worth the trouble of going all the way up that mountain and dragging the old bastard back to the Aoiya.  
  
I guess I finally understand why Shikijo could spend a whole evening watching Misao eat strawberries.  
  
Speaking of which...  
  
I walk over to the shoji of Misao's room. Sliding it open just enough to catch a brief glimpse of Misao's sleeping face contorted into a fierce looking scowl, I bend down and place the basket of strawberries on the floor.  
  
She'll enjoy them more than I ever would.  
  
But, what I -would- enjoy right now...  
  
Is a bath.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
***In The Next Chapter: Who beat up Okon and Omasu? Will Misao forgive Aoshi for being such an utter asshole? Well, stay tuned for next time, when we learn all about Beshimi!  
  
***Author Notes:  
  
So, this chapter was a little more angsty than the last. My apologies.   
  
Also, They do grow strawberries in Japan -currently-, but I am not exactly sure if they did during the Meiji Era, or if this is a more recent import.  
  
I'm -fairly- sure that Watsuki never expounds upon Aoshi's parents. And, since ninja groups were known to adopt orphans and raise them as ninjas, I thought this would be a good plot point. It also ties in, of course, with the temple feeling "safe" to Aoshi, which helps explain why he spends so much time there.  
  
***Thank you to everyone who reviewed: kenshingentatsu, Kuchiro, Kajeth, Maeve Riannon, alu-chan, I wuv u kenshin-sama, Lychee2,   
  
Ebony-Glass: Sickened? :( You make me cry big tears. Ok, not really. I think the real answer is that I have no life, so I churn out fics like...well, like an Amish person churns out butter.  
  
ChiisaiLammy: Glad you are enjoying the story!  
  
Gemini1: Me love you long time, too. :D  
  
DarkHorse: Well, hope you liked this chapter, too.  
  
Silver miko: AHAHAAHAHAAHAHA. I was going to name this story "Aoshi Shinomori Sees Dead People", but I decided that was too corny. Nonetheless...very amusing.   
  
unique-starfish: The secret is cigarettes. Lots of cigarettes. Oh, and a picture on my desktop of Aoshi carrying the decapitated heads of his friends. That helps, too.  
  
Nigihayami Haruko: I hope he -does- listen. Slowly, but surely, we'll see Shinomori's brain heal, only to DASH IT ON THE ROCKS LATER.  
  
kakashi-fan: Well, I am glad you like my stories, at least. :D :D Say, what exactly -is- the translation of "sugoi"?  
  
eriesalia: Of course Misao is a little bonkers. She -did- leap into that chasm, not something those of us with all of our marbles would do. *Angrybee looks around and discovers she's down a few marbles.* Heh heh heh. I went and changed it to "oirans and geishas" or something. Thanks for pointing that out.   
  
aiteane: Heh. I bet when Aoshi fainted that Misao screamed bloody murder. Anyway, I think somewhere in the manga it says that Aoshi can't hold his liquor. I couldn't tell you where that is, though.  
  
Tessira Aleyn: Glad you are enjoying the story!  
  
airmed: Wow. Thanks so much for reading!  
  
Catnip: Romance? Hm. -Possibly-. Just a touch. Or maybe not. Well, if I tell you, that spoils all the fun, no? Yeah, I crank out a lot of blather. IE: I have no life. So sad, but at least I don't have ghosts haunting me.  
  
Veleda: Enthralling, huh? Glad to hear it. That is, by the way, also my favorite line.  
  
April-san: Thanks for reviewing! :D :D  
  
Saiyagirl: I like "little Misao" stories, too! Someone should write "The Adventures of Misao-chan, Mini-Ninja"!   
  
Shihali: I haven't read that, but I will be certain to track it down.  
  
Shimizu Hitomi: Can't wait to see what you write on the Oniwabanshuu!  
  
Shinomori no Kami Daiji: Yeah, I'm probably not very good at doing a "cannon" Aoshi character. I hope the patent Aoshi fans aren't too upset. 


	3. Chapter 3: Beshimi

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 3: Beshimi ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Shinomori."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wake up, you are in danger."  
  
I grit my teeth. I have to put an end to this. This can't continue.  
  
"In danger of -what-?"  
  
"DANGER. DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER."  
  
I'm sinking. No, I'm being pulled underneath. Water is filling my lungs as I slip further and further into the depths. The darkness which surrounds me reflects my rotten soul. No light can penetrate hell. There are no fires here, no screaming, no eternal pain and torture.  
  
Just nothing. Just a numbness which penetrates every cavity, leaving an inanimate object barely able to even sense it is alive.   
  
Hell is sinking blindly through the dark, dark ocean, and never finding the bottom.  
  
Once all of the air is gone from your lungs, even the bubbles cease to keep you company.  
  
And then I hear it, this -terrible- noise, like a ship hitting an iceberg. A tearing sound that reverberates inside me, right beyond my sternum. It sounds like a thousand bones being broken at once.  
  
There isn't supposed to be any sound in hell.  
  
Something grabs me by my hair. What kind of torture is this? This is new. I'm rather anticipating the physical pain. Physical pain is a colorful kite festival compared to my being alone with my mind.  
  
The next thing I know, I'm being yanked upwards. My flesh burns cold as it is assaulted by crisp air, gnawing away at my numbness. The water splatters all around me, cascades of drips that now sound like river rapids to my sensitive ears.  
  
I sputter, cough, and begin to breathe once again.  
  
One eye opens to find exactly the person I did not want to see this morning.  
  
Damn.  
  
Hiko Seijuro has a smugly vain look on his face as he lets go of my hair, dropping me back into the tub. Tidal waves of frigid bath water are sent over the edges, splashing onto the floor.  
  
I glance to Hiko's right. How nice. He's torn the bathhouse door off of its hinges. Somehow, I know this is my fault.  
  
"Most real men have the common decency to fall on their swords somewhere away from prying eyes, Shinomori. Drowning yourself at home leaves a whole lot of mess for the womenfolk to clean up."  
  
What? No wait. I'm pretty sure I didn't try to kill myself. Did I?   
  
I might have.  
  
I can figure this out. Time works in a linear fashion. So. Climbing the mountain, coming back down the mountain, talking to Okon and Omasu, Hiko's boisterous entrance, strawberries for Misao, bath...  
  
Bath.  
  
Oh. "I fell asleep in the bath."  
  
Hiko's expression doesn't change. He just crosses his arms underneath that enormous mantle of his, and continues to glare at me. "You've got ghosts, boy. You'd best get that cleared up, quick. I've seen what ghosts can do to a man."  
  
What? How does he know that?  
  
No. He doesn't know. He's just using that legendary Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu perceptiveness to make a generalization about my mental state. Whatever Himura was able to figure out at Mt. Hiei, Hiko probably realizes twice as keenly.   
  
What I want to say is, "Go away. This isn't something you can cure with your hermit's wisdom and a jug of sake, you egotistical old fossil." The fact that I even consider such a thing disturbs me. Few people are able to provoke such a response on my part. Not even Himura.  
  
Instead, I stand up and climb out of the bath, naked as the day I was born. (Well, assuming that I -was- born, and not spontaneously generated in the middle of a forest clearing by sadistic demons. Frankly, as my life progresses, I'm considering this to be more and more of a possibility.) If Hiko thinks he can be the only person in control of a situation, he is -dead- wrong. And if he wants to glare at me, he can glare at my naked backside.  
  
I find my dry yukata and pull it on. My feet are so cold, I'm a bit worried about stumbling, but to my surprise, something goes right for once, and I don't. Poise and grace appear to be on my side for the moment.  
  
Without turning around, I ask, "Anything else?"   
  
That should irk him.  
  
"Aa," he replies, not sounding the slightest bit annoyed. As soon as I turn to face him, he's heading towards the hole that used to be the shoji. "Come back to the mountain sometime. We'll spar. I'm certain it will be more interesting than watching my baka deshi continually butcher the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu."  
  
And then Hiko Seijuro is -gone-.  
  
Unfortunately, unlike Hyotokko and Shikijo, the old hermit probably won't stay gone for as long as I would like.  
  
I suppose normal people would be giddy, ecstatic, overjoyed that they'd been spared from drowning, even if it -was- by the irascible recluse who taught kenjutsu to the man who most recently defeated you in a duel. Hm. Well, I'll make that judgment when I get to the -end- of today. I'd say there is a greater than fifty percent chance I'm going to end up wishing he'd left me alone to die in my sleep.  
  
I briefly consider the fact that Hiko has been here all night. Probably in Okon and Omasu's room. But, in this, at least, I am not worried. Hiko may be fantastically strong, but he'd never do anything perverted where our injured Oniwabanshuu ladies are concerned.  
  
Deciding to fuss with the broken shoji later, I head back to my room. The sun has just -barely- poked her head over the horizon, casting the courtyard in otherworldly hues. No one is awake yet, though I'm finding it hard to believe they all slept through Hiko's destruction of Aoiya property.   
  
My room is where it should be, which is good. When I first came back from Mt. Hiei, my room wasn't always where it should have been. I thought the other Aoiya residents were playing tricks on me. Sometimes hallucinating the absence of things is more confusing than seeing things which aren't supposed to be there at all.  
  
First, get dressed.  
  
A clean uniform is laying on the chair. Well, that debunks my theory that either Okon or Omasu puts it there. Neither of them has been out of their rooms since yesterday morning. I get dressed quickly. Much to do today.  
  
Trenchcoat. Check  
  
Kodachis. Check.  
  
Sundial...  
  
Sundial?  
  
Where is my sundial? I check all seven pockets of my trenchcoat. I check those same pockets -again-. It isn't there. It isn't on the dresser. Almost frantic, I throw back the blankets on my futon. Not there -either-.   
  
And then I hear it, that unmistakable laughter coming from just beyond the shoji, "Kekekekeke...".  
  
Ah. Beshimi.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Beshimi was the last to join our tribe, and remained the lowest ranked of the four of my dead friends throughout his career with the Oniwabanshuu. Nonetheless, I've always respected Beshimi as one of the most clever men I know.  
  
Even if he is a kleptomaniac.  
  
I remember that day quite clearly, even if I can't remember how I ended up in the marketplace with Misao-chan. Possibly, I went to go to get my kodachi repaired, and Okina asked me to take her along. At any rate, I seem to recall that I spent a good part of the afternoon saying only one word.  
  
"Aoshi-sama, look, birds for sale. Birds!"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Look, look, purple flowers!"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Aoshi-sama, did you see that woman? She was as big as Shikijo-kun!"  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Can Misao ride on your back, Aoshi-sama? She's sleepy!"  
  
"Aa."  
  
I bent down on one knee for Misao to climb on my back. It was just easier to carry her than to try to control where she walked. Misao weighed next to nothing, anyway.  
  
But, as I stood back up, a strange looking man bumped into me. Just a light touch, I hardly even noticed it as he brushed past my shoulder.  
  
"G..gomen..." he muttered, continuing down the road.  
  
Misao wriggled on my back, craning her head from her bird's eye view to watch the man's retreat. Suddenly, she dug her dangling feet into my sides to get my attention. "Aoshi-sama! Aoshi-sama! That man took your sundial!"  
  
Looking down, I found that the object which usually hung around my neck was, indeed, missing.  
  
This annoyed me for two reasons. The first, obviously, was the fact that I had been robbed. And the second was that Misao realized it before -I- did.  
  
"Hold on Misao."  
  
We tore through the marketplace after the thief. I think Misao was screaming something to the people in the market, but I was concentrating on catching up to the quick little man who wove through the crowd like a drunken bee. Thankfully, I have longer legs, and for every two steps he took, I only had to take one. Even with Misao on my back, I finally caught up to him in a back alley and cornered him against a wall.  
  
The little man had hair like blackened rice sprouts, eyes with slitted pupils that reminded me of a feral animal, and a peanut-shaped head. Basically, he wasn't a pretty man by any means, but nonetheless strikingly memorable. He backed up against the wall as I strode into the alley, looking right and left for a means of escape.  
  
"You have something of mine."  
  
"D...don't know...what you mean..." He crouched down, making himself even smaller.   
  
"Return the item."  
  
"Get lost!"   
  
I opened the flap of my trenchcoat and put my hand on the hilt of my kodachi. This would probably get ugly now. I hated to attack someone just for thievery. Many people who stole, these days, were just trying to get along or were ordered to do so. I mean, I'm a ninja, it isn't like I haven't had to pilfer a few things in my time.  
  
As soon as I drew, the little guy jumped into the air. My kodachi sprung from the hilt, but I slashed too low, catching only the space where his feet had been. I felt certain that his tactic would be to jump over me while my kodachi was still low, but I had completely forgotten by that point that Misao was on my shoulders, making me a good two feet taller.  
  
So, instead of jumping over me, he raised one hand and caught hold of the roof's edge. And then, like lightning, three darts appeared in his fingers and flew towards me. I avoided the first, deflected the second with my kodachi, I thought the third would miss completely but...  
  
My spinning had caused Misao's foot to fly outwards. The dart sunk into her ankle, and she screamed as she let go of me, falling to the ground with a light thud.  
  
I could have killed him then. I would have killed him, too. But, as I yanked him from the roof and held him aloft, my kodachi at his neck, he stuttered, "Don't kill me...the girl...poison..."  
  
Poison. Misao would die if I killed him. And finally, after shaking the ugly man quite violently, he sputtered an admission that he had the antidote back at his camp.   
  
So, carrying him under my left arm, and Misao over my right shoulder, we went.  
  
For most of the trip, Misao remained lucid, though I could hear her breathing getting heavier and heavier. I followed the man's instructions to the outskirts of town, a dingy neighborhood, one filled with the lowest sorts of scoundrels and vagabonds. We arrived at a camp containing a handful of well-traveled tents in a circle. At the center, men and women practiced ancient arts meant to entertain. Fire-breathing, juggling, acrobatics. Ostensibly, I knew this must be some sort of circus, but it was a circus fallen on hard times, indeed.   
  
Our arrival drew a rush of interested parties. But, true to his word, the little man set to work right away on administering the antidote. I laid Misao on a nearby table. She had a bit of a blue tint to her skin, but seemed to be alright. If I said her name, she'd squeeze my hand. She drank the murky liquid, promptly burped, and turned on her side to go to sleep.  
  
"You could have killed her," I said.  
  
"Yes, but I meant to kill -you-," he replied.  
  
As I looked around at the silent faces of the performers, I asked, "You'd risk your life for the theft of a bauble?"  
  
"You'd risk your life to have it returned?" He took a deep breath and sat down on the table next to Misao. Exhaling slowly, as if cleansing his body of his misdeed, he continued to speak. "Look, I don't want to hurt kids. I don't want to hurt anyone. But, we have no food. We can't perform if we are too weak, and if we can't perform, we can't make money to buy more food. I am the leader of this troop, and as the leader, it is my responsibility to do what needs to be done for their safety. If I have to steal, if I have to kill, if I have to become the most despicable of worms to keep my men alive, then I will."  
  
I sat beside the man, glaring at him with all my might. I tried to see into his brain, to discern the timbre of his mind with mere sight. Finally, I said, "Your name?"  
  
"Beshimi."  
  
"Beshimi, you are a good man. But, you're an absolutely horrible leader."  
  
He gave me the same look that most generals have when they've just been insulted by the opposing force, "What in the hell? I just saved your little friend! You...ungrateful..."  
  
"Look," I said, holding up one hand in an attempt to calm him, "You've confused self-sacrifice with leadership. You can suffer all you want, but until you organize, until you take control of these people and actually -lead- them, you can not expect to do more than merely exist. To come up with poisons and antidotes, to have built this operation, you must have a decent mind. Why not use your head, and come up with a more valuable goal than mere day to day existence?"  
  
"Don't you think I haven't thought about that? But, there isn't anything. Nothing can be done!" Beshimi jumped up onto the table, making himself taller than me. "That is the way the world works. You scrape out a life, and you can hope for nothing more."  
  
"I would not follow a man who can promise no more than the most meager of existence. Nor would I follow a man who will sacrifice himself at any moment. Because, one day, such a man would be gone, killed for the little he promised me. Then I would be left with even less, and forced to continue without even the memory of a great leader's lofty goals to keep me going."  
  
"Well, then, if you know so much..." Beshimi put his hands on his hips. I waited for him to spew the words I'd lured him to say. "What would -you- do?"  
  
"You should join me. Your people, too, if they wish. We could use your talent. You will be fed, clothed, and trained. And it will certainly be safer than stealing from the Oniwabanshuu."  
  
The last word rippled through the ranks. Oniwabanshuu. Few people in Kyoto didn't know the meaning behind that word. I thought I saw a brief shimmer of fear pass through Beshimi's eyes, but the strange little man hid it by looking up at the sky. "And, what do you want in return, hm?"  
  
"Just your loyalty, your dedication and...my sundial."  
  
So, Beshimi ended up joining the Oniwabanshuu that day. With him came several others, among them the jugglers called 'Kuro' and 'Shiro'. It is quite amazing how easily you can go from tossing balls to tossing shuriken. And Beshimi's expertise in knife and dart throwing made him quite valuable.  
  
Misao healed up quickly, as always. She spent the next few weeks running around, showing everyone the bandage on her leg and telling them she'd been in a "circus accident" involving a tiger and some rampaging elephants. Well, I suppose it was better than the truth.   
  
I, however, was scolded for days on end by Okina for getting Misao injured. Not that I minded much. It -was- my fault, after all. And, I'd already learned pretty well how to tune out Okina's voice. The old Okashira was right. Meditation -can- do wonders for your disposition, especially when used to ignore loud old men who wish to constantly reiterate that your young ward is not to be involved in stupid fights over stolen sundials.   
  
You would think that everything turned out fine and dandy. But, over the next few weeks, random objects began to disappear from Oniwabanshuu headquarters. Small things went missing, at first. Okon's best combs. Okina's little bow for his beard. Kuro's favorite sake bowl. No one thought much of it at the time. A rash of misplaced items could easily be explained away.  
  
But, the disappearances continued. Hannya's dragon mask, which he wore sometimes instead of the oni mask, -gone-. Hyotokko's best chopsticks. Omasu's little spice pots. Shiro's juggling fans. Shikijo's favorite paintbrush. Vanished. Finally, when my yukata belts -all- disappeared simultaneously, I'd decided it was -enough-.  
  
The only two people who hadn't had anything stolen, were Beshimi...and Misao. I could just imagine what would happen if Misao's training kunai disappeared. I'm a fairly stalwart and stoic person, but even -I- can't endure -that- much wailing.  
  
And so, deduction led me to the culprit. Beshimi.   
  
Sheepishly, Beshimi looked down at the floor, rubbing his toes against the tatami as I confronted him. He looked guilty, he -smelled- guilty. The Oniwabanshuu's new member shrugged his shoulders slightly and whispered, "Ah, Aoshi-sama, I have a problem, you see."  
  
"A problem?"  
  
"Sometimes, even though I don't mean to, I just have to take things. I don't mean any harm by it. Something catches my eye, and the next thing you know, it is in my hand. But, you can always have everything back. I'll always put them right here..." Beshimi bent down and slid open a cabinet. He pulled out a small wooden trunk and lifted the lid, revealing everything lost. From Hannya's mask to my belts, from chopsticks to combs, all the missing items lay inside. "So, if you find something missing, please just come and check here and take it back. I'm very sorry, but I just...can't help myself."  
  
Now, it isn't often that I find anything uproariously amusing. Or even -mildly- amusing. But, on that day, after grabbing my yukata belts and walking back to my room without another word, I just had to let out a small laugh.  
  
Of all the problems a man could have, loss of limb or love, addiction to opium or predilection towards violence, poor Beshimi just liked to take pretty little things and put them in a box in his room.   
  
After a while, it became sort of a running joke among the Oniwabanshuu. Something missing? Check Beshimi's treasure box. Everyone gave him grief about it, but only in jest. Since he'd always allow you to take back whatever he stole, the harm in his little problem was negligible. And, in some small way, I think he liked it. He had this mysterious smile which would cross his lips whenever you came to get something back. I never understood it.   
  
And no one -ever- caught him in the act. It was always -afterwards-. He was a very -good- thief, at least. Among ninjas, that is something in which you can take at least a little pride.  
  
Strange, though, he never stole a single thing from Misao. I guess it was his way of apologizing for the poison dart. But, I can't say for certain. I never really did fully comprehend the complex and tangled mind of Beshimi.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Beshimi!!!"  
  
I slide open the shoji of my room to find Hannya leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, fingers strumming against striped sleeve. Even with his mask on, I can tell he's upset. With his head, he motions towards the ceiling at the end of the hall, where I spy Beshimi precariously balanced on one of the beams.  
  
"Where is it, Beshimi?"  
  
Beshimi rolls forward, letting his body dangle down from the beam, his weight supported by his knees. "Where is what, Okashira?"  
  
My glance leaves Beshimi only for an instant as I watch Hannya out of the corner of my eye. He's already upset about something. I don't want to chance upsetting him further. It could be unpleasant, not only for me, but for the Aoiya as a whole. "You know exactly what I am talking about. Produce it, or..."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about, Okashira, I'm sorry."  
  
"Then why were you laughing?"  
  
Beshimi moves his shoulders, causing him to swing from side to side like an absurd monkey. "Just having a bit of a laugh at Hannya's expense. He's upset because the mountain man got to spend the night with Okon and Omasu, drinking and having fun, and he didn't. Oh, poor, poor Hannya. Never gets the girls..."  
  
Hannya flexes his fingers. I'm not even sure if the man has teeth, but if he does, he's probably grinding them. "Shut -up- Beshimi, or I swear..."  
  
I -would- have to be left with the two ghosts that can't seem to get along.  
  
"I will crack open that oddly shaped head of yours and have your brains for breakfast with a side of sake served in your hollowed-out skull..."  
  
No, Hannya would never do that. For all his threats, he's never once hurt Beshimi. Hannya did get him drunk, dressed him as a chicken, and left him in the middle of Kyoto once. But, Hannya would never actually hurt him. The evidence of that is clear enough. Beshimi would be dead if Hannya ever made good on his threats.  
  
Oh wait. Beshimi -is- dead. They both are. I keep -forgetting- that.  
  
"Hannya, calm down." He's the easiest one to persuade. All I have to do is even insinuate we're on a mission, and Hannya sobers right up. "We have work. Focus."  
  
I've snapped. I've absolutely snapped. And Hannya, he has to know something is wrong. Oh, please, please don't let him ask me. Without my sundial, everything is just off-kilter. This morning isn't starting well. I'm dreading the -rest- of the day. Hiko Seijuro is a sake-swilling curse upon this planet's face. I hope he trips on that mantle of his and falls into his kiln, face first. (Did I just think that? Kami-sama, Shinomori, do you have to wish ill on -everyone- you encounter?) But, five more minutes, and I wouldn't have had to deal with this. Five minutes was all that stood between drowning in neverending silence and having absurd conversations with the ghost of my kleptomaniac friend.  
  
"Beshimi..."  
  
"Okashira."  
  
I will not be upset. I will not yell at him. He didn't mean to take it. If I yell at him, I might lose my control. If I lose my control... There does not need to be a repeat of yesterday's events. Breathe evenly, Shinomori. Breathe. I close my eyes and count to ten.  
  
"Beshimi..."  
  
"Beshimi, Aoshi-sama?" Misao's voice stings the back of my neck like a scorpion.   
  
"Oh, hey..." Hannya loses his threatening tone, "She's getting pretty good at hiding her presence. Misao-chan is so clever. I taught her well."  
  
Yes. Clever. Perhaps -too- clever for her own good. How did she sneak up on me? I didn't even notice... Alright, I suppose I -was- mildly preoccupied with my own insanity.  
  
"No, Hannya, -I- taught her that," Beshimi declares.  
  
Argh. I wish I'd never let them train her to -do- things like that. If only my friends weren't so tragically incorporeal, I think I would strangle them both.  
  
As their argument erupts, I open my eyes and turn around. Misao is in her sleeping yukata, and her hair is down. She has a lot more hair than you'd think. I'm not sure how that braid thing works exactly, but it definitely defies the laws of science. She's looking up at me through sleepy eyes, and her breath smells like strawberries.  
  
"I miss Beshimi too, Aoshi-sama," she whispers.   
  
Thankfully, Hannya and Beshimi are too involved in their war of words to notice Misao speaking of them in the past tense.  
  
A little tear forms at the corner of Misao's eye. Oh. Oh no. Is she going to cry? What in the hell am I supposed to do in this situation? I'm not trained for this. This is definitely beyond my range of control. Can I just tell her to stop? Or will that make her more upset? Now I'm almost wishing Hiko hadn't left. He's probably good with emotional women. I vaguely wonder if Himura cried often as a child. I mean, he wouldn't cry now, but...  
  
Why are you thinking about Himura, Shinomori? Pay attention. Get control.  
  
You should slap her!  
  
No, I don't think that work either. I'm pretty sure striking Misao is not the appropriate answer. So, I just say, "Misao..."  
  
She smiles a bit and blinks away the half-formed tear. Good. Very good. I note for future reference that saying Misao's name helps combat the onset of tears. Misao looks suddenly a bit embarrassed, she shifts her weight as she chews at her bottom lip, "Um, thanks for the strawberries, Aoshi-sama. Would you like some breakfast? Because I'm still hungry and I was going to make some..."  
  
"Misao-chan can cook?" Beshimi asks.  
  
"Of course she can cook," Hannya replies, rolling his eyes, "She's a woman. They're all born with the knowledge. That, and the innate ability to pleasure a man."  
  
Even -I- am disgusted by Hannya's last comment, even though he's just joking. He can probably sense I'm tense and is trying to diffuse the situation. Without thinking, I reply, "Extremely foul..." But, I catch myself before I say Hannya's name.  
  
Of course, Misao thinks I am talking about breakfast. She stumbles backwards a bit, her bottom lip quivering. I'm almost sure that I've just undone any positive progress I made in keeping her from crying. Strangely, however, my words don't seem to draw tears. Misao just regroups and tries again. "Well, if you aren't hungry, that's okay. I still have to make some food for Okon and Omasu. I could just make you some hot tea, if you like."  
  
Actually, as refreshing as that sounds after a night in a cold bath and losing my sundial, I have too much to do. "No. I'm going out."  
  
"Oh?" Misao tilts her head quizzically, blinking at me like some sort of clockwork doll, "To the temple?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Where then?"  
  
No one else in the entire Oniwabanshuu would have asked me that question. Not Okina. Not even my dead comrades. Misao asks because she's worried about me, and probably because she already suspects that I'm looking for Okon and Omasu's attackers. She suspects, and she wants to know what I know, because she wants to go and handle it -herself-. See, I may not know much about people, but I do know Misao looks out for me. As a child, I watched out for her, and now, I guess, she thinks it is her turn to look after me. She's trying so hard to save me from myself, and yet doesn't even have the slightest clue what that entails.  
  
"Business," I say, hoping she won't press the issue. Like I would really tell her anything. I may be insane now, but if Misao ended up like Okon and Omasu... Well, I don't know what would happen, but it would -not- be pretty.  
  
"Business where?"  
  
Do the questions NEVER end with Misao?   
  
"Where?" she asks again.  
  
She has to stay here. I can't have her snooping around or tagging along and getting hurt. "Stay here and look after Okon and Omasu."  
  
"But, Aoshi-sama..."  
  
"It's an order, not a request, Misao." I brush past her, knowing that further convincing will not be necessary. She has a good heart, Misao does, but she rarely remembers to look before she leaps.  
  
Hannya approves, and makes it known by walking next to me as we leave. Beshimi, on the other hand, sighs noisily before following. However, he won't express the reasons for his discontent unless I ask.   
  
And I'm not going to ask.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The weather is pleasant enough, I suppose. However, it could be freezing, and I probably wouldn't notice. I have to stay calm. I have to pretend like absolutely nothing is amiss.  
  
But, my sundial...  
  
Without it, I am nobody. I am not the Okashira. I am no leader. I am just a pathetic soul which needs to be put out of his misery.  
  
Kyoto remains blissfully quiet at this hour. The morning's lingering coolness will ensure that the man I go to visit will not have left for the outskirts of town yet. My trip remains blissfully free of violence, but the hallucinations make it hard to walk. I keep seeing the ground beneath my feet split and crack, as if it were merely a thin veil covering a chasm underfoot. Around me, buildings and fences become blurs and whirls, insubstantial fronts which only barely shield my eyes from some fantastic hell beyond their walls.   
  
The thread is fraying. Is this what Himura feels like when he is close...close to losing himself to the assassin within? Does that man see ghosts? Are they, perhaps, the ones who compel him to do laundry all day? Do they force him to eat Kamiya-san's infamous cooking? I feel sorry for him. He's probably got angrier ghosts than I have. At least mine usually take directions.  
  
Beshimi pulls me from my thoughts by clicking his tongue as we approach a more shady side of the marketplace. "Aha. I should have known."  
  
The building before me is a complex mish-mash of colors and styles. It looks like a row of decaying slums, all tightly pressed together into one long complex. Broken windows, decaying beams, roof tiles slipping out of place, all of these things serve to decorate one of the best-hidden secrets in Kyoto.   
  
Hachinisasareru headquarters.   
  
At the end of the building, a sign barely legible due to a decade of built up grime reads: Tojiro Apothecary.  
  
I step into what appears to be the tiniest, most squalid medicine shop in all of Kyoto. The youthful clerk looks at me, blinks a few times, and asks, "May I help you?"  
  
"Tojiro. Tell him Shinomori is here."  
  
The clerk balks slightly in recognition of my name, and then disappears behind a curtain. It will take him some time, I know, before he returns, so I busy myself by looking around the shop. The Oniwabanshuu have the Aoiya as a front, and the Hachinisasareru have their apothecary. No one would come here looking for anything, not with how overpriced everything in the front room is. Still, the trained eye would be able to pick up the importance of some of the things here. There are two huge glass jars on the counter, containing snakes from Australia pickled in a yellowish brine. Smaller paper boxes rustle slightly as spiders and scorpions the size of a man's hand make their presence known. Dried blowfish hang from the ceiling, like spiked beige balloons of some deadly celebration. They intermingle with giant mushrooms which have been sliced, then pressed flat to remove the liquid, and hung on long wires to finish the drying process.   
  
All normal medicines, herbs, flowers, and roots, have been relegated to a series of brightly colored shelves on the eastern wall. They are dusted often, but you can't fool me. No one comes here to buy anything off those shelves.  
  
This is an apothecary, alright...if your idea of relieving someone's suffering entails killing them with the most potent poisons known to man.  
  
The Hachinisasareru, as I have mentioned, are one of the Oniwabanshuu's oldest and most trusted allies. Their -true- headquarters, however, is hidden in a mountainous region in the north, where they cultivate deadly animals, insects, and plants from all around the world. This apothecary, here in Kyoto, is merely a warehouse for supplies smuggled in through Osaka, and a recruiting station for new personnel.   
  
The clerk returns, followed by the man I've come to see. Okashira Tojiro stands only a few inches shorter than me, but with a regal bearing which always catches me off-guard. I always forget how charismatic he can seem up close. But, when not in his presence, he's a singularly forgettable man. Small brown eyes, framed by his western glasses, are the only distinguishing feature of his otherwise unremarkable face. His age is hard to discern, and there is a running bet among his men to get him to divulge the secret. But, as well as I know him, I place Tojiro at approximately ten or fifteen years older than me.   
  
He told me once that the secret to keeping your skin from aging could be found in a face cream made with blowfish poison. I think I'll just take his word for it.  
  
A cloth mask hangs around his neck, one used to protect his mouth and nose from whatever poisons or chemicals he might be playing with today. Tojiro tears it off and hands it to the clerk as he approaches.  
  
"Shinomori, good to see you," he says, smiling warmly as he bows. Being both men of knowledge, and the world, it would be proper to shake his hand. But, we're also ninjas. And ninjas don't shake hands with other ninjas, no matter how much you trust them.   
  
Beshimi looks up from a rack of vials. He's been salivating over the poisons since we arrived. If he were alive, he'd have stolen a few by now. (And later I'd receive a very nicely-worded letter from Tojiro regarding some recent additions to my bill.) "Ah, Tojiro-san looks the same as always, don't you think, Hannya?"  
  
Hannya shrugs. I get the impression that he's never been overly fond of Tojiro.   
  
"What brings you here, hm? A couple of troublesome Aoiya patrons going to be going home with virulent stomachaches? Or is this, perhaps, about our young Gouko and the lovely Omasu-san?" Tojiro flashes me a winning grin, "Well, come, come, let us speak in my office, ne? I've been wanting to show you some books which have recently arrived from overseas. You'll be particularly interested in some of the European science manuals..."  
  
Tojiro continues to speak as he leads me through the labyrinthine halls of the complex. On the outside, certainly, it looks like the building is falling apart. But, once inside it is a maze of well-tended laboratories, training halls, and personal quarters. About a dozen men and women live here at any given time, and from what I understand, business is booming for the Hachinisasareru. Poisons and medicines, drugs and salves. The place vaguely reminds me of Kanryuu's mansion on a smaller and more practical scale. We pass one laboratory with the door open, and I spy three men inside, all hard at work at pouring this flask into that one, boiling liquids, and studying complicated charts bearing mathematical symbols.   
  
Frankly, it's a bit creepy. I'm very glad these guys are on my side.  
  
We reach Tojiro's office. It contains an overabundance of bookshelves, but is otherwise suitably furnished with a western desk and several haggard-looking orchids. He offers me a chair, and I sit, waiting for him to finish showing off his new books. He's quite proud to be an educated man. I've been told that his mother was a very low prostitute, and his father unknown. The unfortunate circumstances of his birth cause Tojiro to look upon every accomplishment as one more step away from his lowly beginnings.  
  
And now he is Okashira of the Hachinisasareru.  
  
Good for him.  
  
Beshimi, quite taken with the books, makes small comments about how the library in this office alone must be worth a fortune. Sad to say, but my own library contains only a third as many books, many of which are manuals of war. In the ways of science, Tojiro has me beat, hands down.  
  
Hannya stands behind me, arms crossed and silent.   
  
"But, here I am babbling about my acquisitions and not at all being a proper host. Shall I bring tea, Shinomori-san?"  
  
"No." I put my hands on his desk, and lean forward a bit as he finally sits. "I've come because of Omasu..."  
  
"Oh yes!" Tojiro beams at me, his teeth revealed by his smile, "I thought that might be it. We all adore her here, and Gouko... You mustn't be worried about Gouko, Shinomori, he's an upstanding lad. He'd never do anything untoward, never be fresh, I assure you..."  
  
"Yes. I trust you in that matter, but..." My face feels exceptionally hot. This room is suddenly stuffy, and I fear I might soon break into a sweat. My sundial. Without it, my confidence is shot. Steady, Shinomori, steady. "Omasu and Okon were attacked yesterday. Both were beaten soundly."  
  
"My word...are they...."  
  
"They'll be fine. The attackers, however, we looking for me. Whomever they are, they know all about the Aoiya and the Oniwaban. That is why I am here. I need to you keep your ears and eyes open. If you find out who they are, don't engage them. Your men aren't trained for battle with such beasts."  
  
Tojiro nods, his amiable smile long since replaced with a solemn look of concern. "Any clues?"  
  
"Nothing of note," I reply. We speak together for a few more minutes, of possibilities and plans. Tojiro pledges his support without hesitation. It is by the hospices and protection of the Oniwaban that the Hachinisasareru can continue their efforts within Kyoto. Without our help, they would have never been able to establish a stronghold here, and without our continued patronage, the police would have long since sent them packing.  
  
A silence passes between us, and I can see Tojiro's thoughts grinding in his head. "Shinomori?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"You look pale. Have you been getting enough sleep?"  
  
I dodge the question by looking out the small grime-covered window above his desk, "I should go. I have other things..."  
  
"Of course. Of course. This is a horrible affair, indeed. I'm sure you have much to do. Shall I see you out?"  
  
"No," I reply, bowing as I stand, "I've long since learned the way." With one last nod to Tojiro, I step into the hall, my dead friends following quietly behind. As we make our way through the maze of hallways, Beshimi walks up next to me. His head is tilted upwards, and he is glaring at me meaningfully, just waiting for my permission to speak.  
  
'What is it, Beshimi?' I ask mentally.  
  
"I don't like this, Okashira. What you are doing doesn't seem right."  
  
I don't respond. I have no idea what Beshimi is talking about. Using your allies is a perfectly acceptable tactic. The three of us turn into the hallway containing the laboratory I had spied earlier. However, now the three men previously inside are loitering in our path. I keep walking, and they appear to be paying no attention to my progress. The trio speak animatedly about the boiling point of some concoction, each one passionately professing a different opinion.  
  
As I pass, just for a moment, I glimpse in the direction of the speaker.   
  
I bite my tongue so hard I can taste blood. My heart slams against my chest as years of training kick into action, keeping me from making any sign that anything is out of the ordinary.  
  
Keep walking. Keep walking at exactly the same pace. Say nothing.   
  
That isn't a hallucination. It's real. I know it is real because I hear Beshimi gasp by my side. He saw it, too.  
  
Around the man's neck, on a leather cord, hangs my sundial.  
  
My sundial.  
  
I've been betrayed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I walk slowly, at first, after leaving Hachinisasareru headquarters. Every sense I possess becomes involved in the process of trying to deduce if Tojiro sent someone to follow me.   
  
I keep this up until I realize I'm being a fool. First of all, Tojiro knows where I live. Second, he wouldn't be stupid enough to chance my discovering his agent. He obviously thinks I have no clue about his involvement. And, I wouldn't have any idea, if it hadn't been for my sundial.   
  
I must have dropped it in the old fish packing warehouse yesterday. Were they following me then? Or did they go back afterwards to make sure I'd received their message?  
  
But, Omasu would have recognized the Hachinisasareru if they had been the ones who attacked. And that clan, while formidable, isn't known for having much in the way of fighters.   
  
So, Tojiro, wisely enough, must have hired outsiders. But, why?   
  
None of this makes any sense. What motive could the Hachinisasareru possibly have to attack the Oniwabanshuu, and me in particular?   
  
And poor Omasu. Her heart will be absolutely broken when she finds out how she's been used. That Gouko kid. Getting close to Omasu under false pretenses, just to find out information. I swear, I'll cut his eyes out and feed them to him.   
  
As soon as I think it prudent, I break out into a run. I have to put some distance between myself and the Hachinisasareru headquarters. I have to think this out. Surely, if I could just wrap my mind around this, if I could just figure out what is going on, then I could deduce a resolution.   
  
But, forcing my mind to behave in any rational fashion may be the most difficult proposition of all.   
  
Halfway back to the Aoiya, I catch my breath in a back alley. I'm covered in sweat, but only half of it is from the running. How the hell am I going to protect them? I can't keep an eye on everyone all the time. And I certainly can't keep them locked in the Aoiya.  
  
Or could I? How hard would it be to pick off the Hachinisasareru one by one? I could get a gun. I've never had one before, but shooting has to be easier to learn than tossing shuriken or kunai or darts. Right?  
  
No. That would take too long. I stare blankly at the wall across from me in the alleyway, watching as it ripples like water in my hallucinatory vision.   
  
Maybe I should just sneak inside one night and kill them. I know the building's defenses, so it wouldn't be -that- hard. I probably wouldn't get them all, but as long as I took down Tojiro, Gouko, and a handful of others, and then set fire to the place, they'd be crippled enough to have to close up shop. I'd probably get killed in the process, but at least everyone at Aoiya would be safe.  
  
"Oh, that's a -great- idea," Beshimi says sarcastically, suddenly appearing on the low roof of the building across from me. "Getting yourself killed will -definitely- solve the Oniwabanshuu's problems."  
  
"There is no other choice." I look at my feet, somehow suddenly afraid of being chastised by Beshimi. Heh. That's a new one. Beshimi making -me- worry about being incompetent. "What do you expect me to do? The Hachinisasareru have a clear advantage. Do you want Okina to be attacked in the streets like Okon and Omasu? Or Misao? Or the others? It is obvious the Hachinisasareru want me. So, I'll give them..."  
  
"I seem to recall Okina did pretty well against you with his tonfa last time you fought. Just because you won that particular battle doesn't mean others will be able to subdue the old man."  
  
I look up suddenly, my eyes growing wide. Beshimi is talking about my time at Mt. Hiei, my tentative pact with Shishio Makoto. My ghosts never mention that time. My strange little friend curls his knees up to his chest, turning himself into a solid ball. He'd always been such a small man, compared to the rest of us, but the way he'd slog through insults and jibes, the way he'd try so hard to complete every overwhelming mission... It made me ashamed to ever complain at how hard anything might be. Because, for Beshimi, it had to be at least three times as hard.  
  
"Okashira, you've somehow mistaken self-sacrifice for leadership," Beshimi says, eyes turning a jagged crystalline blue as he speaks. He appears made of dark cerulean glass, almost translucent when the sun hits him at a good angle. "You can suffer all you want, but until you organize, until you take control of the Oniwabanshuu and actually -lead- them, you can not expect to do more than merely exist."  
  
My words. I take it that this must be his goodbye. I'm getting more used to this by now. Still, I wish they wouldn't pick such jarring things to say when they leave. Why can't any of my ghosts want something easy, like incense burned in their honor? Or some prayers or flowers or something? Wait, Shinomori, don't think about the flowers. You tried that one already.   
  
"What are you saying, Beshimi?" I crane my head to try to catch his eye, but he's like a stone statue, staring over the rooftops of Kyoto.   
  
"I didn't follow you just to have you sacrifice yourself. Those left at the Aoiya are your family, and you have to look after them. But, Aoshi, they are also your men. They protected the Aoiya when you could and would not. They don't need you to die for them. And you don't need to do this alone. Lead them, my friend. Have at least as much trust in their abilities as they have in yours. Be their Okashira."  
  
"That's it? That's what you want from me?" I cross the alley and catch Beshimi's foot. I suddenly feel like a child, like an impetuous child begging a parent to stay and give him just a few more words. "What if they get hurt?"  
  
"It's a possibility." Beshimi says solemnly. I wish he would laugh that funny "Kekekeke" laugh one more time, just to let me know everything is going to be alright. "But, imagine how you felt after we died. Would you wish that despair on Okon and Omasu? Would sacrificing yourself bring any joy to Kuro, or Shiro? Is that how you will thank Okina and Misao for trying so hard to being you back? They may get hurt if you lead them into battle. But, they will -definitely- be hurt if you go alone and get killed."  
  
"Yes, Beshimi. You're right." I take a deep breath in through my nose and exhale through my mouth. By the time I look up, Beshimi is gone, and instead of holding on to his foot, I'm clinging to a fallen roof tile. My fingers slip off, one by one, until my hand drops and returns to my side.   
  
Beshimi. Can't say I ever understood him. But, I always liked him.  
  
"Kekekekeke..."   
  
His final laughter is carried by the breeze. It's probably not really his laughter at all, but a bird, or some wind chimes, or a cicada. Nonetheless, for once, I don't mind hallucinating one iota.   
  
"Kekekekeke..."  
  
I just need to lead them. No matter what happens, it is the right thing to do.  
  
"Kekekekeke..."  
  
Oh, just shut up already, Beshimi.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I make haste back to the Aoiya. The front of the shop is closed up. I guess Misao wasn't up to directing Kuro and Shiro in the kitchen all day while at the same time looking after Okon and Omasu. Not that Kuro and Shiro need direction. It's a little known secret, but they can cook almost as well as Omasu.  
  
Well, as long as all the recipes include a vigorous helping of sake for the chefs.  
  
Okina is out front, unnecessarily sweeping the porch. "Oh yes. Closed up today," he says to a woman inquiring about the Aoiya, "Everyone's gone to a nearby spa for some rest and relaxation. Say, you wouldn't want to join me in a nice hot bath, would you, Miss?"   
  
The woman, thankfully one of our longtime customers, blushes, stammers out something about Okina being a pervert, and runs off. If she'd been a stranger, she'd probably have slapped him.  
  
The old man giggles. If Hannya had been here, he'd have given Okina no end of grief for failing.  
  
I walk up, glad to see that there hasn't been any trouble since I left. Okina stops sweeping and gives me a nod.   
  
"Everything go well?" He's peering at me meaningfully through those worn old eyes. Okina hates being left out of the loop as much as Misao, but he complains about it less.   
  
"Aa. Where are the others?"  
  
"Okon and Omasu are sleeping, finally. Kuro and Shiro are making lunch. And Misao..."  
  
"Misao?" A brief flash of worry jolts through my body. Surely Misao stayed here, just as I ordered. She wouldn't go out on her own, would she?  
  
"Misao's been in the storeroom all morning. Cleaning."  
  
Cleaning? How atypical of Misao. But, then, nothing typical has occurred all morning. Why start now?   
  
As I go inside, I realize that I just had a conversation with Okina, and he didn't say a single insulting or cruel word to me. Or, rather, my mind didn't tack on anything particularly insane.   
  
That's a good sign, at least.   
  
The storeroom is at the very back of the Aoiya. Actually, we have two storerooms, one for things needed for the restaurant, and one for just old equipment and storage of personal items. But, since Kuro and Shiro keep the restaurant's storeroom spotless, I'm pretty sure Misao must be cleaning the other one.   
  
I open the door slowly, just a few inches. Misao has her back to me. She's on her knees, rummaging through a small crate, taking out well worn items and putting them aside. If she's been cleaning in here, I certainly can't tell the difference.   
  
"Aha!" Misao exclaims. She leans into the crate, the entire top of her torso disappearing into the box for a few seconds before she springs back out, her prize in hand. Setting it on top of another wooden crate and standing, Misao dusts off her hands on her apron hastily before saying, "Finally found it."  
  
"What did you find, Misao?"  
  
The world's most genki onmitsu whirls around, surprise apparent as she steps in front of the object. "Argh, Aoshi-sama! How long have you been standing there?"  
  
So, she's learned to hide her own presence, but still can't detect mine. Well, that's good to know.   
  
Misao shifts her weight as she rapidly cycles through a barrage of expressions. I don't catch all of them, but I'm fairly certain that she wasn't expecting to be discovered. Finally, her shoulders sink a bit, and she steps out of the way, leaving the object in plain view.  
  
I see. She's dug up Beshimi's old treasure box. It's the one he used to keep all the items he stole from the Oniwabanshuu.  
  
"I got to thinking about him, about Beshimi, after you said his name this morning." Misao turns her back to me and begins fumbling with the latch on the box. "And then, I remembered the box. His eyes always shone with such pride every time I came into his room and opened it up. Like he was so glad just to share a secret with me, something that belonged just to us and no one else..."  
  
What the hell is she talking about? He never stole anything from Misao. Ever. So why would she...  
  
I'm so stupid it literally hurts me. I can't belief I'd never figured it out before. "You were the thief. Not Beshimi."  
  
"Of course." Misao's lips turn up at the corners as she finally pries open the box. "At the time it was our game, Beshimi and I. He taught me to steal, and I would bring everything I pilfered to him, so proud of my accomplishment. And he would smile and put it in the box. Our game. Our secret. Well, not so secret anymore, I guess. Are you angry, Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"No." I'm not angry. Just surprised. No wonder we never caught Beshimi in the act.   
  
Misao was the thief. And Beshimi covered for her. He took all of our abuse, all of our teasing, just so Misao wouldn't get in trouble.   
  
Just like he took those bullets, so I wouldn't get killed.  
  
I guess he never could get out of the habit of sacrificing himself for the sake of others.  
  
But, I will. For Beshimi's sake, I'm going to lead the Oniwabanshuu to victory this time.  
  
The Hachinisasareru isn't worth the sacrifice of my life. It isn't worth the tears of my adopted family as they bury me.   
  
Besides, I have to get my sundial back.  
  
"Did you need something, Aoshi-sama?" Misao asks, pulling the rest of the crate's contents out onto the floor to be sorted. One, in particular, catches my attention. An unopened package addressed to Beshimi. I bend to pick it up. The return address is Kanryuu's mansion in Tokyo.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
Misao shrugs as I inspect the kanji. That's Beshimi's handwriting, alright. So, what could he have possibly sent to himself? I tear it open and squeeze the package at the sides as I peer into the envelope.   
  
At the bottom, I find a pile of paper triangles. All of them are marked on the corner with a familiar stamp of a spider's web. Kanryuu's opium.  
  
Oh. -Very- clever, Beshimi, very clever indeed.  
  
I wonder. Did you think that every packet of opium you stole was one less which would hit the streets? Or were you just curious to analyze them and find out Takani Megumi's secret?  
  
Either way, a plan begins to form in my head.  
  
Misao stares at me, her little black eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"Misao. Gather everyone in Okon and Omasu's room. Your Okashira has a plan."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Opium? Is Aoshi going to poison someone? Will he find out why the Hachinisasareru are after him, or will he flip out and kill them all, possibly getting himself killed in the process? And, there's only one ghost left. What will Hannya want from Aoshi? AND WHAT THE HELL IS THE DEAL WITH THE GODDAMN SUNDIAL?!?! Stay tuned for the exciting and conclusion of Psychotic Ninjas Who Talk to the Dead And Can't Even Remember If They Tried To Kill Themselves Last Night...ahem...I mean "Sundial".  
  
***Author's Note:  
  
Sorry this took so long to write. I seem to have lost my mojo. I guess I know how Aoshi feels about his missing sundial, at least. Hm. I wonder if ninjas stole my mojo. Damn ninjas.  
  
On another note, readers of my story 'Hajime and Tokio' had probably already figured out who the bad guys were, since the Hachinisasareru are featured prominently in that fic. But, unlike H&T, these Hachinisasareru aren't man-hating kunoichi with bizarre voice modulation powers. These guys are more like mad scientists.   
  
Oh, according to my recently acquired volume 3 of the RK manga, the opium produced by Takani Megumi and Kanryuu is called "Spider's Web" opium. I'm not sure if that was brought up in the anime or not.   
  
Thank you to everyone for your reviews. I am glad that you like the story so far, if you do. It may take a while to write the ending. Endings suck to write. Bleh. But, your reviews definitely spur me on to continue, so I thank you from the deepest part of my adoring spleen. Sorry, I'm not sure why my heart isn't thanking you, and my spleen is taking all the honors. Maybe I had some bad pizza or something.  
  
So, extra special thank yous to:  
  
Gemini1, haku baikou (This chapter seems to be lacking in angst AND humor. Damn stolen mojo!), BarbaraSheridan (I agree. Goooo Hiko!), Rainchaser, unique-starfish, Kenta Divina, Master of Time and Space (Everyone loves sake!), Gegachxis, KyteAura (Ahhhh. Maybe. Maybe not!), conspirator (You'd best pick up that pen. Or, I'll send some ooo-ooo spooky ghosts.), LadyWaterShaman, vegetachanlover, Wolfgirl13, Kitty Katana, shura-chan27 (Chuckle, what IS the deal with the sundial, eh?), Justice Stryfe (I'm writing as fast as I can, I promise!), kenshingentatsu, Wistful-Eyes (He's serious, but only when he's working.), aiteane, Nigihayami Haruko (Killing Aoshi? Me? Never. Ok, maybe. Anyway, you want to direct Sundial: The Movie? Laugh.), purpo kitee katx, Silver Miko (Ah, but not only is his ass alcoholic, the rest of him is, too!), Kajeth (She has a boyfriend. But, still, she's part of the Hiko fanclub.), Shimizu Hitomi (Now that I think about it, I probably should have left out the plot.), Maeve Riannon (New TV sitcom: Everyone Loves Hiko!), Kenshie's Tenshi, Misosoup31, ta linda chang, SoT'n'Kenshin, Romario Descartes, Kuchiro (Of course she forgives him!), Dana Daidouji, Setryochi, and LinkLovr.  
  
Catnip: Yeah. I'm sorry about Misao not being overly Misao-ish. I've never really been able to capture her correctly. Maybe she's a bit better in this chapter, I hope?  
  
Arashi7: Aoshi's room smells like Aoshi, of course. And, in this story, Aoshi smells like incense and his trenchcoat, which he probably never washes. Anyway, he's getting a -bit- better at being conversational. Maybe by the end of the story, he'll be able to talk to someone without analyzing every syllable of the conversation. And how -did- he get Hiko off the mountain? Hmm. Better not check the Aoiya storeroom for sake.  
  
ChiisaiLammy: I don't know if Watsuki ever said anything about Aoshi's origins or parents, so I made that part up. Most of Hyotokko's history was made up, but according to the manga, Shikijo -was- in the Ishin Shishi and stormed Edo castle. (The scars on his face are from fighting Aoshi.) 


	4. Chapter 4: Hannya

"I'm so happy. 'Cause today I found my friends. They're in my head."  
  
--Nirvana, "Lithium"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chapter 4: Hannya  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Shinomori!"  
  
"Yes? What? Am I in danger? Is that it?"  
  
"Shinomori..."  
  
"Well, out with it." No matter how flippant I am to the voices in my head, I feel the panic rising as I swim towards consciousness.   
  
"You are in danger. Grave danger."  
  
"Danger of -what-? I'm always in danger. I'm a ninja. IT COMES WITH THE JOB! DANGER IS WRITTEN INTO THE CONTRACT!" I think I may have stopped breathing. I hope I haven't fallen asleep in the bath, again.  
  
"Shinomori..."  
  
"Oh, just get on with it. Instill fear and panic into my soul and then toss me into the waking world..."  
  
"You are in danger, Shinomori. You are in danger of remembering. Too much pain. It comes. The pain will come with the memories of demons."  
  
Demon. Fire. Sundial. Hannya.  
  
Pain.  
  
I wake up screaming.   
  
What have I done? What have I done? I stare at my hands as the question echoes in my head, and the scent of burning flesh assaults my nostrils. Kami-sama, what have I done?  
  
What...have...  
  
I...  
  
Oh. This is my room. Slowly, my hands fall into my lap. I'm sitting up on my futon, the blankets nowhere to be found. I've tossed them into the darkness.   
  
At my side, are my sheathed kodachis.   
  
Right beside me...and not tossed across the room.   
  
Is this a good sign? Or a bad sign? I'm not exactly sure.   
  
Bravo, Shinomori, you may have discovered a whole new category of madness. You're even insane in your sleep.  
  
"Okashira..." The voice outside my door belongs to Okina. Old habits die hard, I suppose. After last night's meeting, everyone's started calling me 'Okashira'. Even Misao.   
  
"Okina." I stand up, thankfully already dressed. I wonder if he heard me screaming. Probably. Unfortunately, I may be past caring. He won't ask me about it, so what does it matter?   
  
"You were screaming," he says calmly.  
  
Damn. I guess I was wrong. I hate it when people aren't predictable.  
  
"Nevermind that," I reply, sliding the door open. Okina is kneeling beside the shoji, as if in deference to his leader. I wish he wouldn't do that, but what can I do? Such habits are instilled in him as deeply as his wish to protect the Aoiya. "Did you find out anything?"  
  
"There are twenty-three people living at the apothecary compound currently. The kid, Gouko, should be returning from an errand to Hachinisasareru headquarters any day. As far as I can tell, he's Tojiro's second in command now. Apparently, after several of his older brothers died, he became motivated to quickly move through the Hachinisasareru ranks, and should now be next in line to become Okashira. As for Tojiro, he's made plans to return to their northern headquarters as soon as Gouko gets back, so we'll have to act fast."  
  
I nod. I have only an inkling about how Okina gathered this information, but I'm certain it involved the old man putting himself in a great deal of danger.  
  
"Good job," I say, "Go get some sleep."  
  
He gives me a look, a look which tells me that he wants to go back to the previous subject of me screaming for no apparent reason. Okina knows something, maybe he even knows the depths of my turmoil. He sees me as a son, I know he does. Things would have been so different if...  
  
He stands, and I can almost hear his bones creak. Okina isn't getting any younger. But, I hate to think of him as old, even if his nickname implies it. I tell myself that he is still a formidable ninja, and that I would be remiss to exclude him from this, no matter how much I want to do so.  
  
"Aoshi, this is a good plan. Don't worry."   
  
Okina disappears down the hallway towards his room.   
  
It's good information, but it still doesn't explain why the Hachinisasareru are after the Oniwabanshuu, and me in particular. What could they possibly gain by my death? And, if they want to kill me, why attack Okon and Omasu? It eliminates the element of surprise. If you want someone dead, you kill them. You don't warn them about it ahead of time unless you have some ulterior motive.  
  
What is the motive? Why would they do this?  
  
Deciding to go to the practice dojo to clear my mind a bit, I step into the hallway.   
  
Hannya appears from nowhere, just as he was oft prone to do while alive. He's quite the master of unshinjutsu, the art of being invisible. He'd have to be, because otherwise a man in an oni mask wearing purple and red stripes sticks out more egregiously than Shishio Makoto dolled up as a geisha.  
  
Actual steam wafts out of the nostril holes of his mask. Spooky, right? Well, it's a trick. When he was alive, that smoke contained a gas which would cause his opponents to become lethargic and confused. But, since he is dead, the effect is merely cosmetic.   
  
Hannya steps in front of me and raises his hand to stop my progress. "Where is it?"  
  
Oh god. He knows.  
  
"It isn't important," I say, trying to sound as utterly convincing as possible. "It is just a sundial, Hannya. It has no meaning, and no purpose other than the ability to tell time when it isn't cloudy."  
  
Now the steam is coming out of his mask's ears, too. "WHERE IS IT?"  
  
"Calm down."  
  
"WHERE?"  
  
I can't believe he's yelling at me. "It doesn't matter. I'm still the Okashira, with or without the sundial."  
  
"You've lost it?" He grabs me by my shoulders. I can actually feel his ghostly fingers digging through the material of my trenchcoat into my flesh. It reminds me of rubbing against a cold dead eel. "Do you realize what you've done? Don't you understand?"  
  
"I.." I don't know what to say. I've only ever -really- argued with Hannya once before. The surrealness of the experience ties my tongue. If he were alive, I'd throw him off and point my kodachi at his throat until he became rational.   
  
I smell fire.  
  
Hannya lets go of me. I wish I could read his expression, his body language gives too little of a clue as to his state of mind.   
  
"Sometimes, I really hate you, Shinomori Aoshi," Hannya says, disappearing through application of his masterful arts. "No. That's not true. I hate the demons which Fate decreed we would become."  
  
Demons.  
  
I look at my hands, half expecting them to be covered in soot, for some unknown reason.  
  
"Hannya?"  
  
But, it is too late. He's already gone. Will he ever forgive me? Can he forgive me? Why should he?   
  
How many times can I destroy one man's life?  
  
Oh, Hannya, I'm so sorry.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It wasn't long after I left the Temple of the Five Clouds with Okashira Makimachi Iwayama that I met Hannya. Perhaps no more than a year or two. The Okashira and I had been traveling back to the Temple to pay our respects. The Abbot had died of old age while sitting in meditation.   
  
The old guy sure did like to meditate. Must be a peaceful way to go, don't you think?  
  
Better than any of the ways I've considered, I'm sure.  
  
We stopped in the town below the mountains on our journey back. Makimachi-san turned me loose on the streets with a pocketful of change. He told me to go enjoy myself. I suppose he thought I'd buy candy or something. But, I was too serious of a child. I didn't want sweets or toys. I didn't want much of anything but to return to Oniwabanshuu headquarters and to continue training. I had to become the strongest. I had no time for frivolity.  
  
So, I wandered the streets, looking for something to buy to prove to the Okashira that I had, indeed, gone and enjoyed myself.   
  
I thought I would buy a book. Machimaki-san would probably frown at that, but at least it would be enjoyable. But, none of the interesting books or scrolls were even remotely affordable to me. So, I continued to wander, unaware that I'd left the safer section of the city, and ambled into a questionable district.   
  
Then, I was pulled from my thoughts of pleasing the Okashira by a skirmish in front of a third-rate restaurant. Three large men were shoving a boy several years older than myself. They'd grab him by his shoulders and shake him, yelling epithet after epithet, then push him towards the next man to repeat the process.  
  
"Get out of here, you demon!"  
  
"You bring bad luck, everywhere you go! Don't come around here!"  
  
"We won't feed you, we don't want demons here..."  
  
"Get lost! Don't ever come back!"  
  
"Demon! Evil demon!"  
  
They kicked him until he fell, and he landed right in front of my feet. I didn't really know what to do. The Okashira told me not to ever get involved in fights which didn't concern me. And I certainly couldn't take on three large men all by myself, not at that early stage of my training, anyway.   
  
I looked down at the teenager. Except for his eyes, his face was completely covered with a system of rags and bandages. At first, I thought he maybe had some sort of disease. But, it didn't seem likely. Those villagers probably wouldn't have even touched him if that were the case.   
  
He opened his eyes and looked up at me with startling recognition. It was like he knew everything about me before we had ever even met. Like he could see into my mind.   
  
I can't recall having ever been afraid before, never in my life, until that moment.  
  
I guess a demon always knows when he meets another demon.  
  
And he's terrified of what he sees looking back at him.  
  
I bent down, suddenly mesmerized by the young man. He didn't appear to be wounded too badly, just stunned, winded. As I assessed the damage, the sunlight glinted off of the sundial hanging from my neck. It must have flashed in his eyes, because the next thing I knew, the boy had grabbed the sundial, his hand as quick as lightning, and pulled me close using the cord.  
  
"This yours?"  
  
"Aa," I replied, attempting to gently pry it from his hands. "It is."  
  
"Time takes all but memories." He read the inscription and then let go of the sundial. Snorting slightly, the youth turned on his side and coughed a bit. "Do you think that would be a blessing, or a threat?"  
  
I hadn't really thought about it before. I'd had that sundial as long as I could remember. The monks said they'd found it with me in the woods. So, I merely shrugged.  
  
The boy sat up. I noticed for the first time how dirty he was, his clothes and hands encrusted with mud. He wore peasant pants that might have once been dark blue, and a rag of a shirt that had been patched so many times it didn't even have a single color anymore.   
  
I'd never known anyone so poor that could actually read. The boy definitely piqued my interest, but apparently not as much as I piqued his.   
  
"What's your name, kid?"  
  
"Aoshi. Shinomori Aoshi."  
  
"Hmmmmm." Turning his head to make certain that the thugs which had been beating him had left, the teenager in the rag masks said, "Interesting name...for a demon."  
  
I tried not to choke on my own tongue at that statement. Mustering all of my will, I spit out a return question. "And yours?"   
  
He looked at me as if I had just asked him to murder an infant in cold blood. "Hannya."  
  
I flinched. Hannya. A female demon of envy, jealousy, and retribution. Very odd name for a boy.   
  
Curiosity overtook me. Well, I was only eight or nine years old, what do you expect? "What happened to your face, Hannya?"  
  
"Fire."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Hannya snorted as he stood up and dusted himself off. "Don't be sorry for me. Be sorry for the poor fool who lit it."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It turned out that Hannya had been living on the streets since he was a child. From what I understand, his mother died giving birth, and his remaining family died in the same fire that took Hannya's face. No one wanted him, none of his relatives, none of the family friends. So, he eked out an existence on what he could steal and beg. He lived like a dog, he told me, chased though the streets by fearful villagers.   
  
I took Hannya back to the inn to get cleaned up, and to meet the Okashira. If anyone would know how to help, it would be Makimachi-san. And, of course, he did. Our Okashira could always sense discarded potential, I suppose. So, he made an offer to Hannya. A man without a face sticks out in a crowd, so why not learn to be invisible? Why not become a master of unshinjutsu?  
  
The Okashira offered Hannya a chance to live life in peace.  
  
"The lives of men aren't contests of beauty," Makimachi-san said, "A man shows his worth by what he can do, by his strength and spirit. The circumstances of a man's birth or life are of no consequence to us. Join the Oniwabanshuu, and we will value you for who you are, and what you make of yourself, Hannya-chan."  
  
Hannya looked at me for a long time, just stared at me with an expression I couldn't begin to describe. Was he sad? Angry? Delighted? Relieved? To this day, I still don't know.  
  
But, he agreed to join, nonetheless.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hannya trained in the shinobi arts as fiercely as I trained in kempo and swordsmanship. And then, as an application of what we had mastered, the Okashira turned us around and had us teach each other. I taught Hannya kempo, and Hannya taught me to go unseen.  
  
In the process we each became the other's shadow.   
  
But, the more I got to know Hannya, the more he surprised me. At times he could be cold, aloof with his thoughts, a perfectionist in his studies, and surpassingly cruel in his assessment of the world. Hannya adored the family he'd gained in the Oniwabanshuu, but he trusted no one outside of the clan. And I mean -no one-. The world beyond had judged him a demon, and in return, he'd decided that everyone else wasn't even worth his spit.  
  
But then, there was a whole other side to Hannya. It was something you couldn't discern after meeting the man just once or twice. Beyond his unfathomable loyalty to the Oniwabanshuu, Hannya just wanted to be a normal person. He wanted to laugh, to enjoy life, to become just another person living in this world.  
  
Not a demon. Just a man.  
  
I very much liked the thought that someone the world had rejected could re-integrate itself into that same world.   
  
And I very much liked Hannya.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I was still quite young when Makimachi-san brought Misao-chan to the Oniwabanshuu. Her mother was dying of disease, and the child could not be left alone.   
  
At the time, we didn't realize that the Okashira was dying of the same disease. He hid it well for some time. But then, slowly, more and more of his work would be passed to Hannya, myself, or Okina. Eventually, he was forced to reveal the situation, but the three of us kept the secret as we attempted to plan for the future.  
  
But, I digress.  
  
Misao-chan came to us.  
  
And Hannya found his life's purpose.  
  
I remember the first time they met. Misao was toddling around the courtyard, chasing a butterfly with two bowls, trying to catch it. Hannya came down for breakfast, and as soon as she saw him, she ran up to him.  
  
"You've got a mask, mister!"  
  
Hannya, still a bit sleepy, looked down at the girl in confusion. Most children ran -away- from him, I suppose.  
  
Hannya tilted his head to one side, blinked, and finally managed to say, "Yes, I do."  
  
"I made a mask once out of some paper. It was supposed to be a cat, but it didn't look like a cat at all. Yours is better, though. Why do you have it?"  
  
From my vantage point on the engawa where I was drinking tea, I watched Hannya crouch down, bringing himself to Misao's level. His eyes... I'd never seen him so upset. How do you explain such things to such an innocent little girl?  
  
"There was a fire," Hannya said quietly, watching little Misao's feet, "And part of my face fell off."  
  
Misao-chan's face scrunched up, her bottom lip pouting out a bit. I thought she might cry, or scream, or run away. But, instead, she just said, "One of my teeth fell out, once. And my eyelashes fall out all the time. So, I guess parts of my face have fallen off, too." Misao shifted her weight as her face brightened, "I'm Misao! What's your name?"  
  
"Hannya."  
  
"Do you want to see my butterfly, Hannya-san?" Misao leaned forward, the two bowls between her hands clenched tightly together to prevent escape. "They start out as caterpillars, you know? But, all the time they really have a pretty butterfly hidden inside. I wish people could turn into butterflies."  
  
Misao lifted one of her bowls carefully, exposing a little yellow butterfly resting on the inside. Its wings moved apart, once, twice, and then it took to the air. The fluttering creature circled Misao's head and came to an abrupt landing on the nose of Hannya's mask.  
  
They both broke out laughing, though probably not for the same reason. Misao's tinkling giggle mixed so harmoniously with Hannya's deeper chuckle. They were two notes which forming a perfect chorus.  
  
Later, Hannya came and sat down beside me as Misao tried, unsuccessfully, to recapture her prey.   
  
"The Okashira's daughter," I explained.  
  
"Mmm," Hannya mused, his eyes never leaving the girl playing in the yard, "I see."  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
Hannya leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "I think she's the most amazing human I've ever met."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The problems began when the old Okashira was on his deathbed.  
  
Okashira Makimachi had prepared Nenji (Okina) to take his place. However, Nenji-san had married Aoki earlier in the year, and wished to be able to stay close to his new wife. They had decided to open a restaurant in Kyoto to be a front for Oniwabanshuu activities.  
  
So, that left the Okashira with only two reasonable choices. Hannya, and myself.  
  
But, Hannya didn't want to be Okashira. What he did want, however, was Misao.  
  
"She can't stay here forever, Aoshi," Hannya said as we sat together outside the Okashira's room, waiting to be called inside. The night, cool and crisp, enveloped our conversation in shadow. "She needs to be a normal girl, with normal friends, and live a normal life. If she stays here, she's going to end up dying young, or worse, turn into a demon like you or I."  
  
"What are you saying, Hannya?"  
  
"Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday, after I've found a woman who can be a mother to Misao..."  
  
This was Hannya's dream, his dream of becoming a normal man. He'd get married, open a small dojo, and raise Misao like a daughter. His dojo would secretly bring in and train potential recruits for the Oniwabanshuu. And Misao would grow up away from the danger of the Oniwabanshuu's enemies.  
  
How could I deny a man his dreams?  
  
So, I swore. I swore on my sundial that I would become the best Okashira I could, making it possible to expand the clan enough that Hannya's dream would become a necessity. And Hannya swore on that same copper sundial that he would forever protect Misao, and that he would do everything in his power to give her the best life he could.  
  
It was our pact. Our promise not only to the Oniwabanshuu and Misao, but to each other. It was our sworn oath to help each other achieve the goals we had set for ourselves.   
  
And the sundial was our witness.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I forbid it, Hannya, I positively forbid it."  
  
Hannya, his arms crossed, tapped his fingers on the striped sleeve of his uniform, seething in anger. We'd been arguing in my office for almost an hour, but probably only about ten minutes of that was actual conversation. The rest of the time, we just glared at each other.  
  
I'd never had a disagreement with Hannya before, and it was taking every drop of my restraint not to throw him out of the room. But, I knew if I did, he'd march down the hall, throw Misao over his shoulder, and leave. I'd have to fight him, and probably kill him, to get him to stop.  
  
"You're being unreasonable. Minkoto is a very fine woman. Just because the circumstances have landed her where she is, you've judged her as unfitting...."  
  
My hand slammed down on my desk, causing the papers piled upon it to jump as if in surprise. "She's a whore, Hannya. You can not marry a prostitute."  
  
"And why not?" Hannya uncrossed his arms and leaned against the back of the chair opposite my desk, "Aoki-san was once such a woman, before she married Nenji. What is your problem? You're usually so understanding of the tragic situations in which people sometimes find themselves."  
  
I wanted to tear out my own hair. I wanted to grab Hannya by his shoulders and shake him until he'd find reason. No. I wanted to find that whore, Minkoto, and strangle her. Her, marry Hannya. I knew the scheming little wench had thought this up merely so Hannya would buy out her contract and free her from her profession. I'd met her several times through Hannya's attempts to have me bedded by some of her cohorts. She wasn't a sad case. No. She was a sniveling little social climber intent on using people for money or contacts. Frankly, I found her repulsive.  
  
"Nenji didn't -pay- Aoki-san to love him, Hannya. She'd already escaped that life long before they met."  
  
Hannya's hands had clenched so tightly around the back of the chair that pieces were beginning to splinter away. "It doesn't -matter-. She'll be a good mother for Misao."  
  
"For how long, Hannya? A year? A month? She'll leave you, and you know it."  
  
"Why do you think that?" I'd never seen so much anger in his eyes before, churning and red, as if they actually contained hell, "Do you think I'm unable to be loved just because of my face? Of all people, I thought you would be the last to treat me that way."  
  
"No, Hannya." I turned around, staring out the window at the snow falling in the courtyard below. "I've always thought of you as a brother. And, I just don't want to see my brother get hurt."  
  
I heard the chair snap into pieces under Hannya's grip.  
  
I thought he would say something to that, or at least throw a piece of the chair at me. But, when I turned back around, Hannya had disappeared. The only trace of his existence was a demolished wooden chair.  
  
And the lingering scent of fire.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I found him later sitting in Misao's room, watching her sleep. She'd had a fever all week, nothing life-threatening, but one of those childhood illnesses which all normal, otherwise healthy, kids endure.  
  
Personally, I've never been sick a day in my life.  
  
He swept a compress of cool water over her forehead and cheeks, wiping away a thin sheen of sweat. We would have all taken turns caring for Misao, but Hannya said there was no use in everyone catching what she had contracted.   
  
I think mostly, just as always, taking care of Misao made him feel like he was doing something normal, and human.   
  
"How is she?"  
  
I watched Hannya's wiry back as he put the rag aside and adjusted Misao's covers. "She's going to be alright. The fever is going down now. Isn't that right, chibi-kochou?" Misao murmured a half-answer in her fitful sleep. Slipping his large hand underneath her little one, Hannya nodded as if he understood whatever she said.  
  
"Hannya," I began, leaning against the wall for support. "About before... The harsh things I said..."  
  
"It's alright," he replied quietly, "You're just looking out for me. And for Misao, too. There's no need to apologize, because there is nothing which needs to be forgiven."  
  
"Are you going to marry Minkoto?"  
  
Hannya's shoulders sunk. "No."  
  
"You don't love her, then?"  
  
Hannya chuckled and shook his head. With his laughter, I finally understood. He could bed a thousand women, but there would only ever be one girl he trusted with his demon heart.  
  
And she was holding his hand.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
After that, things only got worse for the Oniwabanshuu. The Aoiya opened, but despite its success, it couldn't support us all. With the various wars having come to a close at the dawning of the Meiji era, the need for specialized warriors such as Beshimi, Hyotokko, Shikijo, Hannya, and I grew faint.  
  
We went through some hard times, all of us scraping together what we could to keep our strange family going.  
  
The government offered me a fairly reasonable position, but no matter how I haggled, I couldn't get work for my friends. Sometimes, I think that the Meiji government is run by the most inept and ridiculously blind bunch of old fools imaginable.  
  
So, we five left. I know how deeply it hurt them all to leave Misao-chan and the others behind. But, Hannya became downright distraught. His dream of taking Misao away and the two of them living as normally as possible seemed to be getting further and further from realization.  
  
And I felt horrible. I'd let him down. Because of my mismanagement of the Oniwabanshuu, I'd never been able to uphold my end of our pact.   
  
One night, while Hannya was out drinking, my other three comrades and I looked over a few possibilities for work. We'd had several offers, most notably from a shady character named "Kanryuu".  
  
"I don't like him," Hyotokko declared, sprawled out on the floor of the inn room we were all sharing, "He's kinda creepy, ya know?"  
  
"Geez," Beshimi replied, "If Hyo doesn't like him, he's got to be rotten. Hyo-kun likes everyone."  
  
Hyotokko protested. "Huh? That's not true."  
  
"Name someone you don't like, then."  
  
"Uuhhhh. Ummmm. Uhhh..."  
  
Shikijo had been sitting in the window, smoking a pipe and watching the stars. "He's got the most money to spare, though."  
  
Quite a perplexing comment coming from Shikijo. I looked up from the papers. "I never knew you were concerned with getting rich, Shikijo."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Then why do you care?"  
  
Shikijo took a deep drag on his pipe and exhaled smoke into the night. "Hannya."  
  
Hyotokko stopped trying to figure out who he didn't like and turned over on his stomach to look at Shikijo. "What about Hannya?" "If he had that kind of money, he could go back and start his dojo. Kanryuu has enough to make Hannya a rich man. If we took the job..."   
  
If we took the job and gave all the money to Hannya, he could go back. He easily open his school, and have enough left over to raise Misao. She'd never want for anything. And when the day came for her to be married, she'd have quite a sizeable dowry.  
  
And that is exactly what we all decided to do.  
  
At the end of the job, we'd send Hannya home with the earnings.  
  
Unfortunately, we never planned on Himura Battousai.  
  
Fate, I suppose, abhors demons.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Aoshi-sama?"  
  
I blink. Where the hell am I, now? I've lost track of time again. Aoshi-sama? Misao calls me Aoshi-sama.   
  
Misao. If only I'd been able to protect Hannya, she'd be somewhere else right now. She'd be living a normal life, as a normal young woman, with dozens of suitors quaking in Hannya's shadow as they struggled for Misao's attention.  
  
Wouldn't she?  
  
But, I wonder, would she still be Misao, or would she be someone else entirely different?  
  
"Aoshi-sama?"  
  
Oh, I appear to be standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The sun is up now, and little streaks of light are playing with the steam coming off of a pot of boiling water. Misao has on Omasu's apron. It's a bit big for her, so one of the straps has fallen around her upper arm, giving Misao a slightly disheveled look. But, then, she always looks disheveled in the morning, with her hair down and her yukata wrinkled from sleep.   
  
That's when I notice Hannya standing in the corner glaring at me. He says nothing. I guess we're not on speaking terms.   
  
Misao tries again. "Aoshi-sama, did you want something?"  
  
"Tea." Do I want tea? I said that I wanted tea, so I must actually want it, right?   
  
I'm so confused. Where the hell have I been for the past six hours? All I know is that I smell of pine trees and my throat hurts.   
  
"Oh, of course," Misao replies. She busies herself getting out the implements to concoct the requested beverage. "I was just making breakfast for everyone. Though, I think Jiya is going to sleep in a bit after last night. I'm so glad he got back alright..."  
  
Misao chatters on and on while she bustles about the room. Who knows why she feels it necessary to talk so incessantly. And yet, Misao's vociferous nature has never bothered me. There is something so wonderfully innocent about it, something so delightfully soothing.  
  
"She couldn't keep a grudge, even if she wanted..." Hannya murmurs from the corner. No longer staring at me, he's now intently watching Misao. The sadness in his voice lingers in the room like smoke, enveloping me in a hopeless sinking feeling. Drowning never felt this suffocating. "How is it that she's forgiven us all? We left her. We abandoned her. How is it that, no matter what we do, she always welcomes us with open arms? Oh how we loved her, all of us did. But in the end, I suppose, she was the one who kept us human. She was the one who, at the end of the day, changed us from warrior demons back into simple men. Why couldn't she have been a cruel and heartless little girl? Then I could have hated her. Then it would have never hurt so much to have been unable to protect her from the world. It wouldn't hurt so much to leave her behind."  
  
What is this at the back of my throat? Is someone strangling me? Fingers digging into my flesh, rending skin from muscle, muscle from bone, stripping away the outer vestments of what makes Shinomori Aoshi until there is nothing left. Because there is nothing at the core. Just a void. This body is just a suit, animated by evil, a puppet for demons who wanted to play with the world.  
  
I know what Hannya is saying.  
  
He's saying that he'll never forgive me.  
  
For what I've done to him...to Misao...to everyone...  
  
He'll never forgive me.  
  
He hates me. He's always hated me.   
  
"Alright, Aoshi-sama, here's your tea!"   
  
Misao smiles as she turns around. A smile which drops immediately from her face, followed by the teacup. I lunge forward, hand outstretched and catch it, inches from the floor. It's a surprising save. Well, I'm surprised, at least.  
  
As I stand, Misao backs away a bit. Is she afraid of me? Misao has never been afraid of me. Why is she looking at me like I am going to hurt her?  
  
"What's wrong, Misao?"  
  
"I..." Misao scoots forward again. Tentatively, she sticks out her hand and takes ahold of the edge of my trenchcoat's collar, inspecting it. "Oh, Aoshi-sama. I'm so sorry. When I turned around you...well, in the light you..."  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"I must still be half asleep," Misao says, the fear dropping from her face to replaced with an ever-genki smile. "Because you looked a bit like Hannya. But, that's just incredibly silly, right? It's just that...well...you had your hands over your face and..." Misao turns back around to stir whatever it is she is making for breakfast. "I don't know why that would frighten me. Silly Misao. Seeing ghosts again."  
  
"Again?" What? What is she talking about? Kami-sama, I've infected Misao. It's contagious.  
  
But, Misao doesn't...seem insane.  
  
Well, no more or less than usual, anyway.   
  
"Oh, didn't I ever tell you? Hannya. I saw him before you came back with Himura. After I was injured, he said I needed to keep fighting, because you would be coming home. So, I did. I don't know how, but I did. It was almost like he lent me his strength... But, I guess, it was probably just that I was delirious from the pain."  
  
I look around in an attempt to pinpoint Hannya, to get some sort sense of what he's thinking about this. But, of course, he's gone.   
  
"Do you think there really are ghosts, Aoshi-sama? Helpful ones like that? Do you think I really saw Hannya that time?"  
  
What am I supposed to tell her? Yes, Misao, there are ghosts. I see them every day. Currently, in fact, I think Hannya is trying to get me to commit suicide. It's nice, though, that he came to help you out. Maybe I'll do the same after I'm gone. Yes, after I'm dead, I'll probably haunt you, following you around like a lost puppy, just to hear your chatter. Just to watch you forgive everyone who ever hurt you, including me. How can you forgive me? Why don't you hate me yet? Why won't you give up and just hate me?  
  
Hannya! Why won't you...  
  
"Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"Does it matter, Misao?" I look at the tea in my cup, watching it ripple as my hand shakes. I've completely lost control. Without the sundial, I just can't keep myself together. "Does it matter if ghosts really exist? If you saw Hannya, and you think he helped you...then...that's all that matters."  
  
"Mou, I guess you're right," Misao says with a shrug. She spoons large portions of rice into two bowls, which she places on a tray. "Okay. After I get Okon and Omasu fed and into the carriage, I'll have Kuro and Shiro meet us out front. Right, Okashira?"  
  
Misao winks at me and practically skips out the door with the tray.   
  
She always bounces back from everything.  
  
I'm left alone in the kitchen with a trembling teacup. The room suddenly grows darker, as if outside a cloud has passed in front of the sun.   
  
I've lost control of everything. How am I supposed to fight the Hachinisasareru like this? Why does it feel like my entire world is being ripped away?   
  
What the hell is wrong with me?  
  
"At least you saved the teacup from shattering."  
  
Hannya. In a corner. His eyes are glowing red. Fire. I can smell smoke, pungent and deadly, trying to surround me. Trying to choke me. I should have been the one. My life...not his...  
  
I'm the demon. Not him. He was never supposed to be...  
  
"Hannya..." Is it my voice? Is it his? The world is dissolving. Pinpricks of light are stinging my eyes. The kitchen becomes a fire. Blazingly hot, consuming my flesh, destroying my mind. Burn, Shinomori, burn. This is the fire you deserve.  
  
But, these voices...  
  
Am I speaking? Who is here?  
  
"I was so glad you didn't remember. I just didn't want you to remember."  
  
"Time takes all but memories."  
  
"No, Hannya, it took yours."  
  
"Take me with you. Don't leave me again. Please don't leave me again..."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Orukei-chan, I don't want to be alone."  
  
"You aren't."   
  
Someone's hand strokes my cheek, soft and fond. Is this goodbye? No. Not yet. I'm not ready yet.  
  
Will he ever forgive me?   
  
"I just wanted..."  
  
That is why he keeps leaving.  
  
"...to save Misao's smile..."  
  
Because he always hated me.  
  
"...Since I was never able to save yours."  
  
The truth is...  
  
The truth must be...  
  
He should have killed me when he had the chance.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I watch as Misao carefully helps Okon into the carriage. Omasu is already inside, the welt on her face covered by a delicate scarf Misao found somewhere in the storeroom. Since last night, the plan has been altered somewhat. After completing their end of the mission, Okon and Omasu won't return to the Aoiya.  
  
But, I don't think they'll mind one bit.  
  
"Okay, you two," Misao says, handing their suitcases up to the driver. "Be careful."  
  
"Mou," Okon says, grabbing a small mirror out of Omasu's hands so she can check her hair, "We have the easiest part. You should let us come with you, Misao-chan. I can throw shuriken just as good with my left hand as my right."  
  
Omasu leans over Okon's lap, "You're the one who needs to be careful, Misao. Those Hachinisasareru are tricky, and they don't mind hurting women."  
  
Misao waves her hand dismissively, always smiling, as if she wasn't the least bit worried about the fight ahead. "I'll put the hurt on them. Big time. Just you wait. Revenge is a dish best served with genki flare."  
  
Misao closes the door before anyone can protest.   
  
As the carriage rolls off, I survey my troops. Misao is wearing Omasu's day kimono. I guess she doesn't own one. I'm in a western suit. Kuro and Shiro have their ninja uniforms, and are carrying ours in a bundle.   
  
They step forward like two soldiers. "We're ready, Okashira."  
  
"Very well. You have your orders."  
  
Kuro flashes me a grin and Shiro chuckles as they leap up to the top of the Aoiya, taking off across town by leaping from rooftop to rooftop.   
  
Twenty minutes ago, I woke up on the floor of the kitchen.  
  
Hannya was nowhere to be found.  
  
And, since that time, I haven't particularly felt like myself.  
  
In fact, I haven't really felt anything at all.  
  
"Well," Misao says, looking up at the Aoiya, where Kuro and Shiro disappeared, "Since Jiya is staying here, that just leaves us."  
  
I can feel my kodachis strapped to my back. Yes. That is the one thing I can definitely feel. "Let's go, Misao."  
  
The day is cool, shaded by clouds which seem to float ever eastward on the staccato breeze. All life, from trees to weeds, from bamboo to finest moss, watches as we pass. How interesting we humans must be to those flora and fauna not acquainted with our troubles.  
  
As we march towards vengeance.  
  
It is a very fine day to learn that you do not threaten the Oniwabanshuu.  
  
You do not threaten Hannya's family.  
  
Ever.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Good afternoon, Shinomori-san!"   
  
It's the same clerk from yesterday. Little toad. I wonder if he knows. I want to pry those glasses off his face, break off the earpieces, and stab them into his eyes. Repeatedly.  
  
"Good afternoon," I say genially, bowing as Misao scuffles in behind me. She's having a hard time walking in the wooden geta. But, I don't think the clerk will notice. His eyes are on me. Oh yes, he definitely knows.  
  
"Shall I fetch Tojiro-san for you, Shinomori-san?"  
  
"No, we're just here to pick up some items for Okon and Omasu. Some medicines and some poultices..." And to bring down your utter downfall, you no-good, sniveling, traitorous... I'll scalp you, and your entire clan, before this day is through. I'll rend you limb from limb and leave you begging to die. No, no, Shinomori. You must concentrate. Execute the plan. Stick to the plan.  
  
Misao quietly heads to the end of the shop containing the shelves of legitimate pharmaceuticals. I breathe in the musty scent of decades of dust and mold. The Hachinisasareru apothecary contains none of the friendly familiarity which it held just yesterday. No, today, I'd rather see the entire place burn.  
  
"Your name is Nabuki, isn't it?" I approach the counter, my frame blocking the kid's view of Misao. Be charming, Shinomori. You have it in you. Just...act like Hiko.   
  
The clerk, Nabuki, nods.   
  
"Well, Nabuki-kun, I'm very interested in snakes." I lean forward, careful not to glimpse at Misao out of the corner of my eye. I catch his gaze, and hold it without mercy. "Extremely poisonous snakes. Would you have any such snakes here in your shop? Or, perhaps, in the back rooms?"  
  
The kid swallows hard. Alright, maybe that wasn't exactly charming. Maybe you -do- actually need sake to be as suave as Hiko Seijuro, Or, perhaps an ego the size of Hokkaido. Either way, causing intense fear will have to suffice as a replacement.  
  
Nonetheless, I have his attention, and that is all I need.  
  
"Uh. Yeah. Ssssure, Shinomori-san. I have some right here, under the counter. Just a second..."  
  
Nabuki disappears underneath the counter, and I take the chance to look over at Misao. Like lightning, tiny white triangular packets appear at her fingertips as if from nowhere. She flips them behind bottles of ginseng extract, beneath boxes of dried mushrooms, between packets of medical teas. Just like her kunai, every single packet of opium hits its mark.   
  
She's amazing with slight of hand. An incredible thief. But, today she's not stealing. No, instead she's leaving the Hachinisasareru a little gift.  
  
Maybe she's not the best warrior. But, I have to admit, she's becoming a better ninja every day.  
  
"Here you go, Shinomori-san. These little ones..." Nabuki appears from beneath the counter, holding a small wooden box, "Are from Australia. As poisonous as you get."  
  
"The most poisonous?"  
  
"Yup. The most poisonous ones we have. One bite will paralyze a man within five minutes, and kill him within the hour." He undoes the latch and slides back the top, showing me the foot long black snake coiled up inside.   
  
Such a small thing.  
  
Who would have known it could be so deadly?  
  
"You have to wonder," I say, peering at the snake, "Why some snakes are poisonous, and some aren't."  
  
Nabuki chuckles and shrugs, good-naturedly. I bite the inside of my cheek to check the impulse to pick up the box and throw the snake at him.   
  
"Nature does make it hard to tell, sometimes, which creatures are our friends, and which ones will do us harm. Don't you think so, Nabuki-kun?"  
  
"Y-y-yes, I guess you're right." He snaps the lid closed on the box. I think he's getting the idea now. With immense effort on my part, I attempt a reassuring smile.   
  
It literally makes my face hurt.  
  
"Do you want the snake, Shinomori-san?"  
  
"Yes. I'll take it." I hear Misao's shuffling footsteps behind me. She steps up to the counter, her arms full of junk she's lifted from the shelves. She lets it all spill out onto the counter. "And all this, as well. Have Tojiro-san send me the bill at the Aoiya, as usual."  
  
"Certainly."  
  
Minutes later, Misao and I leave the Tojiro Apothecary, and the attached Hachinisasareru headquarters. We walk westward, towards the Aoiya, for several blocks, until we are certain we aren't being followed.   
  
Then we turn down the agreed upon alleyway. Misao sets down her packages from the Apothecary, and picks up the one left behind by Kuro and Shiro.   
  
"I can't believe you actually bought the snake," Misao says, handing me my uniform and trenchcoat. She ducks into a forgotten doorway of some extinct futon shop. "Are you going to keep it?"  
  
Behind a bin of trash, I peel off the western suit, and remove my kodachis from my back. Keep the snake? I hadn't really thought about it. "Maybe."  
  
Omasu's kimono comes flying out of the doorway, followed by the geta. They thunk against the far wall and come to a clattering stop on the stone ground below.   
  
"So far, so good, right Okashira?"  
  
Misao emerges wearing her uniform just as I slide my trenchcoat over my shoulders. My kodachis now hang by my side. My sundial is...  
  
Well, you know where it is.  
  
"I hate this part," Misao says, climbing up to the roof of the building with the ease of a monkey swinging through the jungle. "The waiting is always the worst. Don't you think so, Okashira?"  
  
"Aa."  
  
I climb up after Misao. In the shadows, we make our way back towards Hachinisasareru headquarters.  
  
Right now, Kuro and Shiro are hiding on the other side of the building.   
  
Right now, Okon is wailing miserably at police headquarters, spinning a tale of how she and her sister were abused and enslaved by terrible opium dealers. And Omasu is dabbing gently at the tears in the corner of her black eye, bringing the police's attention to the giant welt on the side of her face. Oh those opium dealers, they would say, their front is this little apothecary on the poor side of town. They just came to tell the police before leaving the city...so no one else would get hurt. Such good citizens, Okon and Omasu.  
  
Right now, Nabuki is running through Hachinisasareru headquarters, looking for his Okashira, needing desperately to relate the news of the terrifying visit he just had with Shinomori Aoshi.  
  
Right now, Misao and I will take our places, and wait.  
  
And right now, at this very moment, Hannya's voice echoes in my head.  
  
"At least you saved the teacup from shattering."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The sun travels across the sky with cruel precision. I lay on my stomach on the rooftop of the building across from Hachinisasareru headquarters, watching the entrance. Two hours, and there has yet to be any movement. Tojiro must still be deliberating about whether or not I am on to him.  
  
Misao, Kuro, and Shiro are nearby, laying in wait on buildings not far from my position.   
  
Minutes pass.  
  
Waiting was never hard for me. Not like it is for Misao. My mind goes blank, focused solely on my mission. There is no nervousness, no apprehension.   
  
I'm not like Himura. I don't grieve every man I ever killed. Just the ones I killed senselessly. Just the ones I slaughtered to satisfy my sick need to prove something for my dead friends.   
  
I'm not some pacifist rurouni out on a mission to save the world from itself.  
  
If people threaten the Oniwabanshuu, or what remains of it, they will die.  
  
Just like Kanryuu.  
  
Such a mystery, they said. He was perfectly healthy when they put him -in- the jail cell. And then, for two weeks, he was just -fine-. Muttering about that Shinomori Aoshi and that Takani woman, and the damn Battousai. Pleading with the guards to make a deal for his release...  
  
And then one chipper spring morning...  
  
Right after a night of fierce rains...  
  
They found that Kanryuu was no longer in possession of a head.  
  
Such a mystery. Where would a man's head run off to all by itself? Why would Kanryuu's head leave the rest of his body alone in that locked jail cell? Tsk, tsk, tsk. A man can't do much of anything without his head.  
  
I still have his skull, you know? I've desecrated it in just about every way imaginable.   
  
I suppose that makes me a very bad man.  
  
But, of all the horrible things I've done, I would have to say that is the one which I regret the least.  
  
In the street below, there is finally some movement. Two police officers arrive on horseback, followed by a good dozen on foot and a wagon behind. Okon and Omasu were more effective than I had even hoped. A third of the police in Kyoto must be here.  
  
They storm the front of the apothecary. Thanks to Misao's nimble fingers, they'll find exactly what they are seek. Packets of opium deftly tucked into corners and crevices. And in the back rooms, those police will discover whole laboratories of scientific equipment. Equipment which they will assume was being used to produce the opium they have found.   
  
So much evidence.   
  
Enough to put the Hachinisasareru out of business for a very long time.  
  
I watch as the police drag the clerk, Nabuki, out of the building and toss him into the wagon. They'll catch several of the others, I know. But the more clever members of the Hachinisasareru will steal into secret passages. They'll jump into trapdoors, and climb into crawlspaces. The labyrinth they've constructed is massive.  
  
Like a hive of busy little bees, one smells danger, and they all flee.  
  
That is where we come in.  
  
Kuro and Shiro are covering the escape route in the back of the complex. Misao is positioned at another. And me...  
  
I jump from one rooftop to another, easily making my way to where I know Tojiro will emerge. His secret escape route leads directly into my path.  
  
Within minutes, Kuro and Shiro snag their first prey. Thwip. Thwip. I listen to the shuriken fly. Of course, the shuriken merely serve to distract. Dodge left, dodge right, look for the attacker...  
  
And then when you get ready to run, you fall flat on your face, having never noticed the rope someone tied around your feet.  
  
An underhanded tactic, perhaps, but quite effective.   
  
I glance at the trapdoor in the Hachinisasareru roof. No Tojiro yet.  
  
Next, I hear Misao. After she's run out of kunai, she'll start kicking people in the head. Oh, sure. She's small. She may not weigh much.  
  
But, when I think about it, I realize...neither does a bullet.  
  
Still no Tojiro. This is taking too long. Underneath my feet, the fragile slate roof tiles crunch as I try to find the best angle. I settle on the slightly raised railing between this building and the next. To my left, I can see Kuro and Shiro at work.   
  
They have four different men bound with rope, laying on the ground one next to another like planks of a wooden bridge. For some reason or another, the pair has decided to pass a bit of time by juggling shuriken, knives, and other assorted dangerous implements, directly above the captured men.   
  
"Uh, oh, Kuro...don't drop that knife, you could put someone's eye out."  
  
"My arms are getting a bit tired, Shiro. We haven't practiced in such a long time..."  
  
The men in ropes are all squirming like worms, trying to wiggle away from the perverse circus act. Ah, if only Beshimi were here. He'd be so proud.  
  
"Okashira!"  
  
It's Misao's voice. I still don't see or sense Tojiro. Keeping my eye on the trapdoor, I cross the roof until I am above Misao's position. Several men, battered and bruised, lay around her in the alleyway. Moaning. There's always moaning in Misao's aftermath.  
  
There's usually silence in mine.  
  
Misao looks up, smiling like she's just delivered a surprise bowl of rice to Hyotokko, as bright as she looked the day Shikijo snuck her strawberries, as slyly proud as the thief Beshimi taught to steal my yukata belts, just like the innocent little girl who couldn't understand the horror behind Hannya's face burning off...  
  
She looks up, and opens her hand. With one swift motion, she tosses the object contained within into the air. It flips over and over, dragging the leather cord behind it like a shooting star soaring through the heavens.  
  
I reach out to pluck it from the air.   
  
I have it. Copper and familiar, my promise, and Hannya's. My sundial.  
  
And that's when terrible pain shoots into my neck.  
  
Like a bee sting.  
  
The sundial slips from my fingers and plummets back towards the ground.  
  
"Aoshi-sama!"  
  
I draw my kodachis as I spin around. How did he? How...  
  
The world grows incredibly blurry. I stumble toward the figure which must be Tojiro. It laughs at me, low and sinister.  
  
"You didn't think I would take the escape route I knew you knew about, did you? You must be more insane that I imagined."  
  
With what remains of my rapidly draining strength, I charge the blurry figure. He easily avoids me, and I land on my face with a thud.  
  
"Tsk, tsk, Shinomori."  
  
"AOSHI-SAMA?!"  
  
Misao. Run Misao.  
  
"She's loud, isn't she?" Tojiro bends down to roughly grab my arm. He's dragging me across the rooftop. Most of me is protected by my trenchcoat, except for my left cheek, which is being sliced to bits by the sharp roof tiles. There's nothing I can do. I've bought this particular poison from Tojiro before. It isn't deadly, but the paralysis is total and quick. "Such a noisy little wench. Well, I'm sure she'll make a fine mourner at your funeral. She'll cause quite a scene for all of Kyoto to witness."  
  
Summoning every ounce of will, I force myself to speak.  
  
"I'll kill you."  
  
Tojiro drops my arm. Looming over me, he says "Shut up, Shinomori."  
  
And then he kicks me in the head.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Orukei-chan?"  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"Lets leave here, someday, you and me. Okay?"  
  
"What's the matter, Hannya-chan?"  
  
"I...I just don't like it here."  
  
"You can't run away from your problems. You have to become strong enough to defeat them."  
  
"How long does it take to become strong enough?"  
  
"I don't know, Hannya. I just don't know."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Shigenobu!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wake up!! You are in danger!"  
  
"Wait, did you just call me -Shigenobu-?"  
  
"Danger. Hachinisasareru. Tojiro. Poison dart. Remember?"  
  
"I'm certain you just called me 'Shigenobu'."  
  
"Of course. That is your name, isn't it? Shigenobu..."  
  
I gasp for air as my eyes fly open. I need to escape. I need to run. I need to beat my head against something solid until the pain numbs itself.   
  
Unfortunately for me, I'm tied to a chair. The room is impossibly dirty. I'm not fond of dirt. I'm not certain what it is about killers, but we just can't stand an untidy world. Himura's got that dojo to clean. Saitou's office is fastidiously neat. And you wouldn't even believe me if I told you how many times a day Seta Soujiro washes his hands.  
  
Anyway, the room is dark and dirty. Cobwebs hang at difficult angles. A thin sheet of dust covers everything, except for a trail leading to the chair, an Aoshi-sized path bespeckled with blood. I can just make out a table in the corner opposite me. Moonlight streams in from between broken gaps in the ceiling.   
  
There's only one word to describe this place. Falling apart. Mm. I suppose that would be -two- words.  
  
"You just had to go and figure everything out. I never expected that, Shinomori. You're a surprising man."  
  
The voice comes from behind me. I crane my head to peer over my shoulder. He's leaning against the wall, cleaning his glasses with the edge of an old rag. The Hachinisasareru uniforms are much thicker than the sorts the Oniwabanshuu tend to wear. Ours are designed for ease of movement. Theirs, by necessity, protect against darts and poisoned weapons with thick, winding strips of leather. If it weren't for his naked face and hands, I'd say that Tojiro's clothing makes me think of Shishio Makoto dipped in tar.  
  
Keeping my neck turned begins to cause the pain in my head to slide down over my shoulders and back. So, I face forward once again.   
  
"Why not kill me, Tojiro? If that is what you want? Why go through the whole cowardly charade with Okon and Omasu?"  
  
"Don't be petulant, Shinomori." I hear a slight scraping sound. Knives? No. Something else. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. But, you're a smart man. You should have figured out by now that I gain nothing by murder."  
  
I test my restraints. Tojiro is clever, and being a ninja, knows the varied ways a ninja might try to escape. I wonder where he's put my kodachis. They've got to be here somewhere.  
  
The older man moves forward and places his leather gloved hand on my shoulder. "But, your suicide. Now, -that-, my dear boy, would be priceless to my clan. What a wonderful chain of events that would set into action, eh? Poor, crazy, Shinomori kills himself. Little Misao would lament your passing with such fervor, she'd probably never recover. The spirit of the Oniwabanshuu would die. Without you, or Misao, the heroes of Kyoto would be no more. And who could the city blame? No one. Well, maybe they'd blame you. But, you'd be dead, wouldn't you?"  
  
Tojiro's plan begins to unfold in my head as he speaks. If I killed myself, there would be no clan war. Misao wouldn't gather the city behind her and demand retribution upon the Hachinisasareru, because... They would have never been involved. The Oniwabanshuu would fade into nothing, leaving a gap that the Hachinisasareru would then seek to fill. They'd become the premiere clan in the city, the protectors of Kyoto who would step up after the tragic death of Shinomori Aoshi to keep the city free of violence...  
  
For a very small price.  
  
"Oh yes, I've been watching you, Aoshi." I can feel his hot breath on my ear as his words spit from his lips. "Watching you talk to the voices in your head. Watching you scream at nothing, beg for reprieve from torment. Every man has demons in his past. But, knowing even as little as I do of you, I'm betting yours are more vicious than most. You were very much on the path to silencing your own troubled mind. I know you were. I should have never listened to Gouko. I should have never been so impatient."  
  
I thrash to the side, throwing as much of my body weight into the movement as possible, in an attempt to bite the man's face. But, he moves backwards with a hiss, just out of my reach. "Impatience isn't very becoming in a ninja. Nor is blaming one's inferiors for mistakes you have made," I say.  
  
"Ah, but Gouko was no mistake. It is amazing how vehemently he hates you. But, then, you did kill his older brothers. The Abukuma Foursome. Or, don't you remember the men you cut down in cold blood, just for spitting on the graves of your friends? Well, maybe they did deserve it, but Gouko will never see it that way. Injustice is always magnified in the eyes of a brother, is it not?"  
  
The Abukuma Foursome. I do remember them. Some pesky little test sent by Shishio and witnessed by the Tenken. Their grand axes made them so terribly slow, I'd gutted them all before even one landed a strike. So. Even the Hachinisasareru had a hand in the Shishio Makoto affair. I shouldn't be surprised. Tojiro always did like progress and crave westernization. I wouldn't be alarmed if it were Tojiro who sold Shishio the plans for his petroleum factory.  
  
"But, I must say, Shinomori, the most amusing accomplice in my plan came most unexpectedly. Poor little Misao, I hope she never discovers the extent of the harm she's brought you..."  
  
My fingers dig into the wooden arms of the chair. Splinters break off and slide under my nails as I grind my teeth in silence. I don't even like it when he merely says her name. "Misao would not betray me."  
  
"Of course she wouldn't. But, she did come to the apothecary to inquire some months ago about a tea to help calm your nerves and assist you to sleep. Tea with Misao. She brought it to you every single day at that temple of yours, didn't she? And while she rambled on and on, you drank the brew I concocted especially for you. Slowly, those drugs settled into your system, collecting in your veins and bones, driving you ever more insane. But, you struggled, you fought. And valiantly, I might add. So Gouko suggested we do something to drive you over the edge. Perhaps attack those two bumbling ninja women who run your silly little restaurant..."  
  
Tojiro chuckles as the scraping noise continues. No, not scraping. Crushing, perhaps? Once again I turn my head to attempt to get an idea of what he is doing. But, he's moved out of my line of sight.   
  
"The problem is," I say, "You've failed. Your clan is behind bars and the police have seized your equipment."  
  
"Oh, no, Shinomori." Now I hear the slippery sound of liquid, "We haven't failed. There are still plenty of Hachinisasareru at our mountain headquarters. We'll set ourselves up in Kyoto once more. But, first, you will have to be so kind as to kill yourself."  
  
"I'll pass."  
  
"No. I don't think you will." I feel myself being pulled backwards. Pain shoots into my neck as Tojiro plunges dart after dart into my skin. Ah, so that's what he was doing back there, making the coating for these darts. "This concentrated form of the drug I put in your tea will not only accelerate your hallucinations, but has the added effect of leaving you quite prone to suggestion. By the time I'm finished with you tonight, you'll be begging me for a knife to fall upon. Maybe I'll even convince you to kill Misao and the others beforehand, just so they can keep you company in the afterworld. Won't that be nice?"  
  
"I'd never harm any of them." The far wall is turning blue, shimmering like the sea. I blink several times in an attempt to force my vision back to normal.  
  
"Really? That's not what I've heard." Tojiro steps in front of me, testing several of the restraints before heading towards a shadowy hole in the wall which must serve as a door. "Maybe this time you can bathe in the old man's blood. You'll like that. I'll make sure you're filled with glee. Now, Shinomori, you struggle as much as possible to help those drugs work into your system. I'll be back in a while to guide your insanity in the right direction."  
  
I listen to the night as Tojiro's footsteps disappear. The sky, which I can make out through the missing planks of ceiling, seems to vibrate and hum. The monks used to say that everything in the world has a sound, we just aren't listening hard enough to hear it. The clouds rushing past the gaps, creating a veil between myself and the stars, they sound almost like little glass bells. Tinkling chimes fall from the sky, calling me away from my hell.  
  
Blood rolls off my torn cheek, or is it sweat? It stings my face and drops from my chin onto my battered uniform. The occasional night breeze which slips in through the cracks plays innocently at the folds of my uniform, but sounds...  
  
So distinctly...  
  
Like fire.  
  
The house of Shigenobu will fall.  
  
I'm standing in a white field of snow. No, snow is cold. This is warm, and filmy. It is raining ash like snowflakes. For as far as I can see, there is nothing but ash, on the ground, in the sky, slowly coating my skin, everywhere.  
  
"At first, I have to admit, I wanted you to remember. I was so filled with hate for a time. I'd been through hell, and you... How healthy and cared for...you seemed. But, I couldn't do it. By the time Misao came along, I was praying every day that you'd never..."  
  
I turn around to find Hannya walking through the ash. It creates small clouds of dust at his feet, turning his lower legs grey. He stops only a few feet from me, still speaking as the ash swirls around us.  
  
"...recall the name..."  
  
He lifts his left hand to his mask and slowly pries it from his face.  
  
"...our mother gave you..."  
  
As the mask falls from his fingertips, I, too, am falling. Falling through a chasm, falling through the sea, falling through memories that time took from me.  
  
"Shigenobu Hannya."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Imagine two houses right next to one another, one large, one small. The large manor resembles father, Shigenobu Taketo, a man of wealth and stature, grand and indomitable. The smaller house reminds me of mother, frail, and gentle, elegant in form and spirit. Her name sounded like the wind. Koichinuwe. But, everyone called her "Koi-nee".  
  
A little house and a big one. Their shadows forever entwined by Fates that tend to amuse themselves with human suffering.   
  
My mother was the beloved mistress of Shigenobu Taketo. Everyone knew. How could they not? He gave her a house right next to his own.   
  
Even Shigenobu's wife knew. Fuyako. I only remember that she had wrinkles around her eyes. And, she tended to throw things at my head if I went into her house.  
  
The big house...where father lived.  
  
But, I get ahead of myself.  
  
Fuyako had given Shigenobu two sons, and both, in time, had died. The elder, a delicate boy, had given in to fever. And the younger, a rowdy troublemaker, had taken to drinking and fighting. (The latter of which eventually precipitated his demise.) So, with no more children in the family, and Fuyako being past the age of childbirth, Shigenobu looked to the first son of his mistress to carry on his family name.  
  
His name was Orukei.  
  
It means, "To pick the strongest flower."  
  
Orukei was a fine little boy. Healthy, bright, and strong. Koi-nee found herself ecstatic that he was to be adopted into the Shigenobu household. He would live a good life, and want for nothing. Eventually, perhaps, he could even help provide for the little brother and sister that, by now, would be on its way within just a few months.  
  
Me.  
  
But, Fuyako had other plans. She had a younger brother who had lost his wife, and wanted to adopt the brother's -legitimate- children into the Shigenobu family to carry on the estate. Oh, how she must have despised Koichinuwe, the elegant mistress which had stolen her husband's heart.   
  
She despised my mother so, that in a fit of rage, Fuyako took a knife and slashed at Koi-nee's face, stealing her beauty in three simple strokes.  
  
Fuyako kept after her husband, demanding that he send his mistress away. But, he replied that he would not do so. No, not while she was pregnant with his child.   
  
Koi-nee was in despair. As soon as her second child was born, she'd be out on the streets. What chance is there in the world for a woman with a scarred face and no trade other than to charm men?   
  
There is none.  
  
I don't remember it, but my brother told me many times about the starless night when I was born. Even the heavenly bodies of the sky hid their faces as I came into the world. Were they afraid? Afraid of what one woman can be driven to do to protect her sons?  
  
Jealousy is a horrible thing in the heart of a woman. How can you fight a woman of higher stature? When you have no position at all, how can you be assured that your children will be safe?  
  
My mother called upon the female demon of retribution, that terrible spirit of a woman's heartache and longing. She named me "Hannya".  
  
I was a demon from the day I was born.  
  
And then, after placing her second son in the arms of the nurse, my mother swore by every demon she could name, that should her sons ever be mistreated by the Shigenobu family, she would personally rise from the dead and haunt them for all their living days.  
  
Before she left this world, before she slid that knife into her gut, she gave her newborn son the sundial she had treasured since her days as a girl. Inscribed on that copper piece were the words she hoped would protect him from the fate which had befallen her.  
  
"Time takes all but memories."  
  
And time took Koichinuwe, that night I was born.   
  
Shigenobu was horrified. And his wife cowered in the shadow of his rage. Surely if they turned out Orukei-chan and Hannya-chan onto the streets, those boys would come back someday for revenge. Not to mention the terrible threat of Koichinuwe to destroy their lives from beyond the grave. In such an unscientific age, you must understand, people remained quite worried about the fury of ghosts and spirits. Such supernatural affairs could afford no frivolous tampering.  
  
So, Hannya-chan and Orukei-chan remained in the small house that stood in the shadow of the large manor, attended by the nurse who had brought Hannya into the world.   
  
we grew, together. Oh, those days were comfortable ones. We played at sword-fighting with sticks, and took our dinner in the gardens. Together, we were the best of friends. Orukei-chan and I, brothers, we had each other, even if we had nothing else.  
  
And then, one day, I came to understand that we were not particularly welcome in our own home.   
  
There were small things, at first. Whispers so faint they seem like I must have been imagining them. "That's the whore's little demon boy," I'd overhear in the garden as I played. Fuyako's company would nod knowingly as she pointed me out. "Only four years old and he never laughs. Never smiles. Only a demon child would be like that."  
  
"Oh yes," one of her officious little friends would say, "See how strange his eyes are. Such a terrible shade of green. They say that sea demons have eyes like that."  
  
Four years, and already Fuyako had begun to forget my mother's warning. She'd grown courageous and bold. She schemed at every turn to make us look disrespectful and lazy in our father's eyes. When no one was around, she'd toss us around like rag dolls. Bastard children, that is what we were. And I was the foul demon boy. She'd spit at us, and kick dirt in our faces. Orukei-chan tried his hardest to protect me. He'd bandage my bruises and cuts, and sing me to sleep.   
  
But, we were just little children. Where else could we have gone? What else could we have done?  
  
And then, one day, our patron, our father, died when he fell from his horse. We were not allowed into the main house, not allowed to go and say our goodbyes to our father.   
  
"No demons in the house of Shigenobu. Never again." That is what Fuyako said.   
  
Her brother's children would inherit the large manor. And Fuyako declared that she would go to live in the small house all by herself.  
  
As for the bastard children who lived there before, they could become servants. Strong boys such as Orukei-chan and Hannya-chan would have no problem laboring in the rice fields.   
  
But that house, that little house, was my mother's house. It was my home, and Orukei-chan's. Our father had intended us to live there as long as we wished. I know it. It was never meant to become a home to such a cruel woman.  
  
And so, that day, when I was only a few months shy of five years old, I did something which perhaps even the Fates never expected.  
  
It was the first night Fuyako was to stay in the little house. I crawled out of the servant's quarters, the little shack to which Orukei-chan and I had been moved. In my threadbare yukata, I made my way through the gardens. I knew them all like the back of my hand, like every groove of my sundial.   
  
I hated her...so much. Maybe I was a demon. Maybe, indeed, I wasn't like the other children, who smiled and enjoyed themselves, carefree and innocent. I had been born of a woman wronged. I was, just as she named me, Hannya, demon of a woman's retribution.  
  
In each hand, I held a lamp to light the way. Orukei-chan's lamp, and my lamp. I crawled into my house. My house. My mother's house. And I slipped through hallways and corridors, through rooms and doorways, until I found Fuyako sleeping on her futon, snoring like a beast.  
  
It isn't very hard to set a fire. You just touch a flame to dry silk, and it will light up like an inferno. And Fuyako had brought with her a great deal of silks, and expensive damasks, and gauze. I pulled them all around her futon in a circle, and just barely touched my candle to the cloth. So faint. Like a timid kiss. Like a butterfly landing on a petal.  
  
And then I left her room. I shut her shoji and jammed it closed with a piece of wood, just like Orukei-chan and I used to do when we didn't want our nurse to bother us while we played.  
  
I set other things on fire as I walked through the house. Everything which didn't belong there. Fuyako's giant Chinese pillows. Fuyako's books and scrolls. By the time I got to Fuyako's paintings, I could already hear her screaming.   
  
Begging.  
  
Moaning.  
  
And then, all of a sudden, I felt glorious. For the first time, I smiled. I smiled as the fire grew behind me. I smiled as I walked out into the chilly night, serenaded by Fuyako's pleas for help. This was joy. This was happiness.   
  
Finally, Fuyako knew what it meant to have a demon in the house of Shigenobu.  
  
From behind a tree, I watched the conflagration grow. I wanted to see her dissolve into ash. I wanted to capture every single scream so I could remember them forever.  
  
And then...I heard it. That terrible...heartbreaking...soul wrenching sound.  
  
"Hannya-chan! Kami-sama, Hannya-chan!"  
  
Orukei-chan.  
  
He'd come looking for me when he'd discovered I was missing. And, of course, the first place he went to look was our old house. He rushed inside, braving the flames, searching desperately for his little brother.  
  
By the time he stumbled out the front door, the damage was already done.   
  
The entire right side of his face was burned beyond recognition.  
  
And I never smiled without forcing myself to do so, ever again.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Those next few weeks were a blur. Orukei-chan and I ran and ran. For a time, we sought shelter at the house of our old nurse's mother, Iyoko. She patched up Orukei as best she could.   
  
He was in such an incredible amount of pain. At night, I could hear him, moaning softly in the bed next to mine. The palms of his hands became scarred from where he dug his fingernails into his own flesh to help forget the agony. Crying only stung his burnt flesh.   
  
And I, I was the demon who had burned away his face.  
  
I couldn't look at him. Not because of how torn and burnt his face had become, but because I was so ashamed. I didn't deserve to have such a brother. It wasn't right that an evil child like me should have someone care enough to run into a burning house for his sake. If it took eternity for him to forgive me, it would be too soon.  
  
But, they were looking for us. We couldn't stay at Iyoko's house long. As soon as we could, we hitched a ride with on a farmer's cart traveling north. So, we left our town. Me, clutching my sundial, and Orukei with his burnt face covered in rags.  
  
Orukei was only ten or eleven, I think. Such an awful burden, to be dragging your little brother towards nowhere. Where could we go? I certainly didn't know.   
  
We came to a forest at the base of a mountain. I caught fish, and Orukei cooked them. He wouldn't let me get anywhere near fire anymore.   
  
I tried to tell him I was sorry. I was so sorry. But, every time, it just got caught in the back of my throat. It wouldn't come out of my mouth any more than a smile would find my lips.   
  
"Hannya," he said one day, "We can't go on like this. I've found a place where you can go. There are people there who will take care of you."  
  
"And you, Orukei? You too?"  
  
He looked at our smoldering campfire, his eyes permanently hardened by the fire which had taken his face. "No. I'm going to go on."  
  
"No," I whispered, "Please, Orukei. I know I'm bad, and that you must...you must hate me. But...but...don't leave me. I don't want to be alone."  
  
His eyes darted up from the fire and locked on mine. "I don't hate you, Hannya. You must never think that."  
  
But, if I were him, I would hate me. "Then why?"  
  
"I'll go out into the world and make a place for us. And then I will come back for you. We'll be together again, okay?"  
  
Even though he said it, I didn't really believe it. Could I really blame him for wanting to get rid of me? The reminder of pain? How long did I really expect him to want to be around the boy who destroyed his life?  
  
I should have been the one to burn in that house.  
  
I should have been the one who lived like a dog on the streets.  
  
I should have been the one to die by Kanryuu's guns.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He stands. The glade, that pale purple glade of four trees casts him in an otherworldly glow. In the distance, I hear the resonant tone of a temple's bell. "Lock your memories away, little brother. Lock them in your sundial, and never, ever, let them out." He turns. Is he smiling? Is he crying? I don't know. Will he ever forgive me? Does he love me anymore? Does he?   
  
He's leaving me. I'm going to be all alone, and I deserve it  
  
"Don't worry," he says as he disappears into the forest, "I am the demon, now."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Hannya..."  
  
Somehow the chair I was sitting in has fallen over on its side. No. Wait. My head is just tilted. I lift it to find myself in the same dirty room in which Tojiro left me.  
  
Hannya is sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of me. He chuckles softly and pokes my knee. "This is a fine mess, now isn't it? Beshimi will laugh when I tell him you fell victim to something as simple as a poison dart."  
  
"Hannya..." I whisper. My throat is so dry. "You're...dead."  
  
He clicks his tongue before letting out a resounding chuckle. "Where did you learn to be so fantastically eloquent, hm?"  
  
"I'm probably going to join you, soon."   
  
"I'd rather you not," he replies, resting his chin on one hand. "I'd find it rather annoying, especially considering I died trying to save your life. Besides, if you make Misao sad again, I swear by our mother's grave, I will find a way to raise you from the dead and haunt you all over again."  
  
"I don't think I have much choice in the matter."  
  
"We'll see." Hannya sighs a bit and looks up at the patchwork sky. "It reminds me of the night you were born. The stars kept hiding. I guess the moon was too bright, those pinpricks of light didn't want to be compared to such magnificence. But that night...the night of the fire...there were so many stars. If it weren't for them, I would have never found my way. I'd misplaced my lantern, I suppose..."  
  
"No, I took it."  
  
"Ah, well, that explains things."  
  
We're both very quiet for some time. I know, I know that if I don't say it now, I might never get a chance. But, how can I? The words feel as sticky as glue. But, I must. He has to know, just in case...we aren't able to meet up in the afterlife.  
  
"Hannya. Listen to me. I'm so sorry. For the fire, and for Kanryuu. I'm sorry I failed you as your Okashira, as a friend, and as a brother. I just don't even know where to begin to try to tell you how sorry I am. I don't expect you to forgive me. I can't even fathom the pain I have caused you..."  
  
"Aoshi."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"I forgave you a long time ago. The only one who needs to forgive you...is you. It's me. I'm the one who was a bad brother. I left you. I abandoned you. Twice. Oh, how we loved you, all of us did. In the end of the day, you gave us warrior demons a home, a place to go to return to being simple men. If you had been a cruel and heartless man, we never would have learned how to live our lives as honorably and courageously as we did. It always hurt me so much not to have been able to protect you from the world. It hurt so much to leave you behind. But, you grew to be strong, you grew to be a fine man, Aoshi. I am so proud...so proud to have known you, as my leader, as my friend, and as my brother."  
  
I may be crying. I'm not exactly sure. Something wet is rolling down my cheek, at any rate. "We're a fine lot of regrettable stains upon this Earth's crust, aren't we, Hannya?"  
  
"Speak for yourself. The ladies adore me."  
  
I try to chuckle, but it just comes out as a pathetic gurgle. My head lolls forward slightly. I think I may have lost some of the muscle control in my neck.  
  
"Aoshi, about Misao..."  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"You know, if you talk to her, she'll listen to you."  
  
I sigh and feel my own hot breath blown back against my face by the breeze. "I doubt I will get the chance."  
  
"Such a defeatist attitude. I never could get you to lighten up." Hannya bends a bit to catch my eye, "You know, the world doesn't seem so bad when you smile. Even without a face, I tried it every now and again. And you, little brother, I want you to smile, too."  
  
"Hannya...I..."  
  
Hannya's gloved hands reach up to his mask. That carved oni mask which should have covered my face... He sets it on the ground next to his left knee, and then looks up at me.  
  
His face...  
  
It's all there.  
  
All the skin is where it should be.  
  
And he looks...so much like me. His eyes are a little deeper blue-green. His hair is a little longer. But, our faces are shaped so similarly. Same nose. Same brow.   
  
The only thing that is really very different is that he is smiling...and I am not.  
  
"Just say you'll try, alright?" Hannya asks as he leans forward and ruffles my hair. His touch seems to drain the unbearable pain which has been assaulting my head for hours now. "Try to smile, someday soon."  
  
"I will, Hannya. I promise."  
  
"Swear by your sundial?"  
  
What else can I do? That's all he wants? I owe him so much more than that, but all he wants is for me to smile? "Yes. I do."  
  
"Good." He stands up and brushes off his hands, "Well, it looks like it is about time for me to go."  
  
"You're going to disappear, just like the others?"  
  
"Nah." He turns around, "I've been disappearing all my life. I'm tired of unshinjutsu. This time, I think, I'll just use the door." He stops right before the shadowy doorway envelops him, and looks back over his shoulder, "You take care, little brother. You may not see me, but I'm keeping my eye on you."  
  
He smiles at me.  
  
And then he is gone.  
  
Hannya has left me again. But, at least this time, I know, he isn't really gone. He doesn't hate me. He didn't abandon me. He's nearby, somewhere, just beyond the veil of things the human eye can see. Just like the sound of the clouds, the smell of the sky. Even though I can not perceive it, it doesn't mean it isn't there.  
  
I take a deep breath. Tojiro's darts were supposed to make me -more- insane, but they seem to have had an effect even Tojiro didn't plan on. They made me remember.  
  
Exhaling slowly, I wonder if now would be a good time to start meditating again. Maybe I could clear my mind enough to figure out how to get out of here.  
  
"Pssst."  
  
Maybe I could hold out long enough to convince Tojiro that I want to kill myself and then use the knife...  
  
No. He'd never believe it.  
  
"Pssst."  
  
Maybe I could somehow use the chair to which I am tied to knock him over. And then I could jump on him with the chair legs...  
  
"Pssst!"  
  
What the hell is that noise? What am I hallucinating now? I look up, trying to discern the source, only to see a very familiar face peering back at me from the cracks in the roof.  
  
"Pssst, Aoshi-sama! I'm here!"  
  
Misao waves at me.   
  
How did she find me? "How did you find me?"  
  
Misao pushes some of the loose boards away to make a hole big enough to crawl through. She jumps into the room with ease, landing with the grace of a wild jaguar. "I'm not quite sure. It was very strange." Misao fumbles with the ropes and leather straps binding me to the chair, "I kept hearing Hannya's voice. It was like he was telling me where to go. Doesn't that sound crazy?"  
  
Completely crazy, Misao. Very crazy. I'm so glad you're insane.  
  
She gets my arms undone and leaves me to do my feet while she searches the room for my kodachis.   
  
"Where's Tojiro-san?"  
  
"Unknown." My feet freed, I attempt to stand up, and find the spinning of the floor makes it utterly difficult to remain balanced. "I've been drugged."  
  
"So you have," Misao replies. She hands me my kodachis and after several attempts, I finally loop the sheath through my belt. "We better get out of here before he returns."  
  
"Too late." Misao and I both spin around to find Tojiro holding a revolver leveled at us.   
  
Guns.  
  
I -hate- guns.  
  
I hate guns, and dirty rooms, and the Hachinisasareru, and Tojiro.  
  
Unfortunately, the only thing keeping me standing is the fact that I'm using the chair to balance.   
  
Misao's face scrunches up. "I don't like you."  
  
"Feeling is mutual, wench," Tojiro says as he takes several steps forward. "I really didn't want to have to kill you. But, since I have you both here, I guess I will have to improvise."  
  
"No," Misao reiterates, "I mean I -really- don't like you."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Argh!" Misao throws up her hands in annoyance, "Why doesn't anyone ever take me seriously?"   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
So, this is what happened.  
  
Before you could say, "Makimachi Misao", a kunai snapped through the air and hit Tojiro directly in the eye.   
  
Tojiro dropped his gun, and it went off, shooting Misao in the foot.  
  
Misao screamed. Tojiro moaned. And they both fell down.  
  
And as Tojiro clawed at his face, trying to remove the kunai that had destroyed his eye, I became a man possessed.   
  
Perhaps literally. Neither Hannya the elder brother or Hannya the younger brother lets -anyone- get away with injuring Misao.  
  
I'm not exactly certain how many times I stabbed Tojiro, but it could be termed, at the very least, "numerous".  
  
Then, the world suddenly no longer spinning, and my senses clearer than they'd been in a long time, I picked up Misao. She never did weigh very much.   
  
And before I left that place, I set it on fire.  
  
That's what happens to people who mess with demons.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Three weeks later. The Aoiya.  
  
"Shinomori!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Wake up! You are in danger!"  
  
"I thought we'd gotten past this."  
  
"Danger!"  
  
"What sort of danger, then?"  
  
"YOU ARE IN DANGER OF MISSING BREAKFAST!"  
  
My eyes fly open as I am filled with incredible panic. I'm met with the sight of a tiny tongue flickering about two centimeters above my eyebrow, and the feeling of something crawling in my hair.  
  
"Ssst. Sssst."  
  
"Aha. Orukei-chan." I pick the snake out of my hair and sit up. "How did you get out of your cage?"  
  
The little snake's tongue flickers at me in response.   
  
It turns out that, in fact, Orukei-chan is -not- poisonous. He is just your normal, everyday garden-variety snake.  
  
But, how we found -that- out is an entirely different story altogether. Though, it does involve a very amusing tale of Okina trying to suck non-existent poison out of Okon's inner thigh.  
  
Another time, perhaps.  
  
I place Orukei-chan back in his cage and snap it closed. Okon says that under no circumstances will there be snakes at any meal in the Aoiya, and she doesn't care if I -am- the Okashira.  
  
I usually retaliate to such statements by threatening to send Omasu on missions up to Hiko's cabin to pick up new dinnerware for the restaurant.  
  
Speaking of which, Okon and Omasu say they had a lovely time up at the old hermit's house after leaving the police station. The three of them spent two days waiting for a certain Hachinisasareru second-in-command to return from the mountain headquarters.  
  
Oh, we didn't forget about Gouko. No way.  
  
Of course, when faced with a very cross master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, Gouko didn't have much of a chance. From what I understand, Hiko Seijuro doesn't take kindly to men who choose to harm women.  
  
After letting Okon and Omasu get their punches in, I hear that Hiko strung Gouko up in a tree. Then, Okon and Omasu treated the irascible hermit to a picnic and all the sake left in the Aoiya.  
  
When they left, Gouko was still up in the tree. Hiko promised to take -very- good care of his new acquisition. I don't think Hiko will kill him. But, I still feel sorry for the boy, nonetheless.  
  
Well, alright, I don't -really-.  
  
Anyway, back to morning, to my room, and my impressive scramble to get ready.  
  
First, get dressed.  
  
This is harder to accomplish than you might think. First of all, I can never find my uniform these days. It isn't on the chair. In fact, I'm not sure -where- it is. Did I wear it yesterday? No, I don't think I did. Perplexing.   
  
Fine, I'll just wear my yukata.  
  
If I wear my yukata, there isn't really any reason to wear my kodachis. Well, it isn't like I'm going to be attacked while eating breakfast. Unless Omasu has taken to procuring vicious man-eating forms of melon, I think it will be alright.  
  
The trenchcoat, obviously, can stay on the hook.  
  
Well, then, all I really need, I guess, is my sundial. I pick it up off the dresser and place it around my neck.  
  
There. Finished. No need to worry.  
  
Second, go directly to the kitchen.  
  
No. Wait. I'm getting those mixed up.  
  
Second, go directly to Misao's room.  
  
The walk down the hallway is short enough. I rap on Misao's shoji. I hope she's already awake. If she isn't then my whole morning schedule will need to be rearranged. "Misao."  
  
"I can walk by myself! That's what the crutches are for, Aoshi-sama."  
  
"Misao... Your wrist..." Oh. Certainly. Crutches are wonderful inventions for just about anyone -except- Makimachi Misao. She tries to walk just a bit -too- fast, gets just a bit -too- genki, and the next thing you know, -thud-. She fell off the engawa and sprained her wrist. She's a danger to herself, to the rest of us, and to pretty much anyone who pisses her off.  
  
(I asked her, after we returned, where she had been aiming her kunai.  
  
"The eye, of course," Misao replied with a smile, "I hardly ever miss."  
  
I may not be the only demon living in the Aoiya.  
  
Well, we are, after all, the Oniwabanshuu.)  
  
"Alright, alright. Come in. I'm dressed now." I enter to find Misao on her futon, trying to put her hair into a ponytail with one hand. She can't braid it by herself with her wrist sprained. "Argh! Stupid thing. Stupid...hair. Now I know why you cut all yours off when you were younger, Aoshi-sama. Such a...bother."  
  
"Here." I take the tie from her and do my best job of at least tying it up so it won't fall in her face while she eats.   
  
"Thanks." She looks up at me with those sleepy Misao eyes. "You're going to let me walk, right?"  
  
"No." Talk about -danger- in the morning.  
  
"Fine." Misao pouts just like she did when she barely came up past my knee. "But, I, Makimachi Misao, am no invalid. Right? I won't be carried like some crippled little girl. I'm a ninja."  
  
Yes, Misao, you are.  
  
I take Misao's good wrist and turn around, hefting her onto my back. She's a little heavier than I remember, but she's still incredibly light. I loop her legs through my arms and stand up.   
  
"Doorway." Misao ducks her head, leaning it against my shoulder as we walk down the hallway towards the courtyard. All the remaining Oniwabanshuu gather every morning for breakfast before starting our various work for the day. The Aoiya is as busy as ever, and I, I have a new project. Just last week I acquired an old apothecary on the other side of town at government auction. They say it used to be an opium factory, but I think I'll turn it into a book store. And yet another front for Oniwabanshuu operations, of course.  
  
Misao and I head down the stairs. She's babbling about how excited she is about the new bookstore, and about Omasu's new kimono, and about Okina's supposedly secret trysts with the widow down the street.   
  
We emerge into the courtyard.  
  
I love breakfast. Being with my friends is the best part of the day.  
  
Unfortunately, Okon is on the engawa screaming bloody murder. "Go! Go go go go!" She's slapping Shiro on the back with her hand, "There's a mouse. A mouse in the kitchen. Go catch it!"  
  
"You're a ninja. You catch it."  
  
Kuro scratches the top of his head. "Geez, Okon, you aren't afraid of a little mouse, are you? I mean, Omasu doesn't seem to be scared."  
  
"Omasu doesn't believe me!"  
  
"I don't believe you're causing such a racket."  
  
"Please, Shiro...please..."  
  
"Alright, lets go find that mouse before Okina comes down here and sees you making such a fuss." Shiro grabs Okon's arm and drags her into the kitchen, followed by a chuckling Kuro.   
  
And Misao and I are, quite completely, ignored.  
  
I'm a bit stunned for a moment. Even Misao is silent. I lift one eyebrow and look at Misao. Misao lifts an eyebrow and peers at the kitchen door.  
  
"I don't think we're..." A surprised scream comes from the kitchen. "...going to get breakfast, Aoshi-sama."  
  
I shrug. I guess not.   
  
"Unless you want to wait." There's a tremendous clatter of pots and pans coming from behind the door.  
  
"We'll wait." Breakfast is one of the most important meals of the day. And, Hyotokko would be quite upset if I didn't eat. I carefully set Misao down on the engawa. Her long thin legs dangle over the edge. I sit down next to her.  
  
The morning sun is bright and clear, shining on our feet, though the overhang of the porch keeps our faces shaded. Okina's garden is quite relaxing, with the little fountain in the distance shimmering like too many of my hallucinations. Misao leans her head against my shoulder. I can feel how warm her cheek is, even though my yukata's sleeve. Together we watch the sky turn from dawn's golds and purples to morning's blue.  
  
"Misao?"  
  
"Yup?"  
  
I chew on my lip a bit. Such personal conversation is still strange and difficult. But, it gets easier every day. Especially talking to Misao. Hannya was right. She's a surprisingly good listener.  
  
"My uniform. It used to be on my chair every morning. Do you put it there?"  
  
"No." Misao looks up at me with the oddest expression on her face. "You're talking about a long time ago, right? Before you left?"  
  
I just stare at her, completely confused.  
  
"Before you left, Hannya used to make sure your uniform was laid out every day. He said you had too much to think about to worry about such insignificant things yourself."  
  
Did he?  
  
Even after...  
  
I guess he always was looking out for me, even when I didn't notice.  
  
My hand closes around my sundial and I lift it from my neck. My fingers know every groove, every bump. I run my thumb over the raised dial, feeling the sharpness which has never dulled.   
  
I don't know how much of my insanity was the tea, how much was keeping myself from remembering, how much was grief, and how much was anger. But, every day now, I'm learning just a bit more how to live with the demon I've always been. I'm always learning just a bit more how to, just sometimes, stop being Shinomori Aoshi, deadly demon warrior Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, and be Shinomori Aoshi, human, friend, and simple man.  
  
But, I don't want to become -too- simple. I might end up like Himura.  
  
"Misao..."  
  
"Yup?"  
  
"I want you to have this." I press my sundial into Misao's uninjured hand. She looks down at it in surprise. "It is very important to me. It belonged to my mother."  
  
"Really? Aoshi-sama?"  
  
"Yes." I reach down and curl her fingers around it. "Take care of it for me."  
  
"No," Misao says with a laugh, "I mean you -really- had a mother? I just can't imagine that! Little Aoshi-sama. I just can't imagine..."  
  
Right now, I'm laughing. I'm actually laughing with Misao, right here on the engawa of the Aoiya. It isn't hard to do at all. It just comes over you, and there you are...laughing with your best friend in the whole world.  
  
"Look Aoshi-sama! A butterfly!"  
  
A little yellow butterfly flutters around the courtyard, dipping here and there, checking everything for perfection, making sure our home is as it should be. On a fine summer breeze, a little yellow butterfly swoops over the pond, circles our heads, and lands on the engawa right next to my knee.  
  
I guess Hannya is laughing, too.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The End.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
***Author Notes:  
  
Phew. Long chapter. Well, Sundial is finished. What a long, strange chapter, and journey, it has been. I read on a Yahoo! group that this story is "unconventional". Well, maybe it is. I guess it isn't your typical Aoshi/Misao type romance. But, I never really billed it as a romance. People kept asking me if the pair would get together in the end. I don't think it works as well as them becoming best friends. Most good romantic relationships are built on friendships, after all.  
  
I think the humor in this chapter is a bit more subtle. I didn't think I'd put anything funny in there, at all, until I went back and read it again, and then I found a few chuckles. A lot of angst, I suppose, but hopefully there is enough lightness to contrast.   
  
And, of course, would it really be an Angrybee story if -someone- didn't have a missing or lost or unknown brother? Hm. I seem to use that theme quite a bit. (I suppose it is my favorite sub-plot.)   
  
Oh, if you are interested, ChiisaiLammy has done an incredibly lovely piece of fanart for this story. A link can be found on my website, angrybee.vze.com, in the "Fanfiction extras" section. Check it out. CL's painting is filled with beautiful hues of swirling red and amazing golds, and a sundial to boot!  
  
***Review Notes:  
  
Thank you to everyone who followed this story, for your kind reviews and your great encouragement. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.   
  
So, a very special thanks to:  
  
KittyKatana (Hope you could handle that sort of ending.), aoi yume, Blurry, Airna (Thank you for the compliment!), Lizzy44, tina, TokyoTeen13 (Oh no! Don't drown!), Dana Daidouji (Well, a few injuries. But, they are heros, they will survive. Wink.), Silver Miko (I probably should have written this story without the plot. But, oh well. Too late now.), Sailor-Earth13 (That's right! Crack the whip!), Wistful-Eyes (Did I answer all my questions? I don't know.), Wolfgirl13 (Woohoo! Thanks for reading.), damselindistress2 (Well, this time he didn't get his own words thrown back at him, at least. Heh. Sneaky Hannya.), Ooka-chan (Ever consider a Jakken-in-the-box? HAAHAHAH.), Maeve Riannon (Poor Hannya, indeed. He needs to slap Aoshi around more.), Gia (Better to be sucked into the story than the story sucking, right? Heeheh.),   
  
Gemini1 & Barbara Sheridan: Hey now! This isn't some sort of strange post-drowning Hiko and Aoshi hentai story. Get your mind out of the gutter. This is a Hannya hentai story and don't you forget..*censored as Angrybee is torn to shreads by disturbed fans*  
  
eriesalia: Ahahaha. You know, I was once considering an AU story with the Oniwabanshuu as crazy hackers. Hackers are definitely the ninjas of our day and age, aren't they? I hope you don't mind that I stole your "completely useless on a cloudy day" idea. Teehee!  
  
Nigihayami Haruko: You teared up? Oh my. Well, I hope you like this chapter as much as the last one. It takes a while to get started, I think, but has some good stuff towards the end.  
  
unique-starfish: Oh. My username? I like bees. And I like the concept of "stinging" in writing. Stings wake you up, make you go "what what?", and then stick with you for days. I hope to be the angry bee which stings with words, well, someday, anyway. :D  
  
kenshingentatsu: Actually, I was quite sick for a few weeks. Angrybee had, indeed what she likes to call "Lungdeath". Me and Okita, we're like this (crosses fingers). But, Angrybee is much better now. *cough* Really. *cough* I could slay an entire division of Choshuu soldiers. *cough* Teehee.  
  
mij: Have fun on your overseas journey! I hope you enjoy the chapter when you get back. Anyway, I always thought there could have been so much more to the stories of the Kanryuu-arc Oniwabanshuu. They're an interesting bunch. And, since they aren't as developed as someone like Anji or Soujiro, you can have a lot of fun writing in a good past for them, I think. :D  
  
ChiisaiLammy: Well, maybe I miss writing that story a bit, yes. But, I'm glad to have finished both of these, now. Thankfully, Aoshi in this story is ten times easier to write than Saitou in H&T. Crazy people can think or say anything and get away with it. It is the ultimate out-of-character excuse, I suppose. Anyway, I have seen some really well-written Aoshi/Misao stories, but they are -very- few and far between. I do like to think of them more as best friends, or brother and sister. No, that isn't even it. Misao looks up to and idolizes Aoshi, and Aoshi needs Misao to keep him human. Maybe some relationships are just best left the way they are, without definitions.  
  
Karta: Yeah, I probably should have though up a different name for an evil badguy ninja clan, but I really like the "Poison clan" idea (a thread which is the same in both this story and H&T), so I stupidly kept the name. Anyway, the Hachinisasareru in 'Hajime and Tokio' are -far- more interesting, I agree. These guys are more like just plain run-of-the-mill stock villains. The plot, it turns out, really isn't as important to this story as everything else. I don't think people were reading for the plot, anyway. I could be wrong. Anyway, I hadn't thought about the Sundial being a hallucination. It is odd, when the narrative voice is someone who is crazy, isn't it, and you don't know what to trust about his appraisal of the world...  
  
haku baikou: I'm glad you like the symmetry. I was going to change it up a bit for dramatic effect in this chapter, with a long flashback before the first scene you see here. But it turned out to be confusing, so I cut it. Glad you are enjoying the story!  
  
tesuka-chan: I had to look up "anaphora" in the dictionary. Great word! I use a lot of anaphora, apparently. Anyway, when I turn Sundial into a musical, I promise, you will be the first to know. And don't we -all- wish we were Hiko, eh heh heh heh. (evil grin).   
  
AiteanE: Ah. Hachinisasareru isn't -that- hard to spell, is it? It's just a sneeze of letters on the keyboard. Teehee. Anyway, I am not so sure I want to think too hard about Hannya "getting it on". But, you know, it may be sick, but he does have the most deliciously muscled arms. (Angrybee is a Hannya-fan. Definitely.)  
  
Kurai: I thought it seemed more like he was climbing out of insanity, too. I mean, by this chapter, he isn't even hearing people say strange things anymore. 


End file.
